Farewell, My London
by Sly M. Cogan
Summary: Sequel to Murder, My Suite. P. I. Moseby is back on the case. Looking for London gets him tangled in the middle of a huge conspiracy involving soda bootlegging, and nobody can be trusted. Moseby x OC pairing, Moseby x Maddie friendship. Finally Completed.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer - I own no rights whatsoever to the Suite Life of Zack and Cody._

**A/N – _Even while I was writing my first Zack and Cody fanfic, "Murder, My Suite", I considered doing a sequel. I even decided on the title "Farewell, My London." My biggest fear was that the sequel wouldn't be as good as the original, because sequels never are as good as the originals. However, many of you reviewed and said you'd like to see a sequel. So I felt obliged to create one._**

_**Besides sequels not being as good as the original, I tweaked the format of this one. When I wrote "Murder, My Suite" it was my first fanfic ever written in the controversial script format. With the sequel, I'm writing in plain old-fashioned, hard-boiled prose. This is experimental. Whether or not I can portray the characters equally well in both formats remains to be seen.**_

_**But I did this to honor the requests of those who wanted to see me write another Zack and Cody fanfic. I look forward to your feedback. With no further ado…**_

"_**Farewell, My London"**_

By Sean M. Cogan

"Arwin, how many times have I told you? No more of your crazy experiments in our basement!"

Mr. Moseby took a step closer to the strangely altered telephone booth in the center of the basement, tripping over a vacuum cleaner. The toe of his shoe hit the power switch, and a garden hose, somehow miraculously attached where the vacuum hose was supposed to be, flew up in the air and wrapped itself around Mr. Moseby's leg. As Moseby picked himself off the floor and tried to unwrap the hose from his leg, he fell backwards, and the vacuum propelled itself forward, dragging Moseby over leaf blowers, roller skates, and tool kits that Arwin had made alterations to. Moseby stood up, bumping his head on a lever. As he rubbed his head, a tile from the ceiling folded in half, and two robotic hands lowered from the ceiling, holding a bucket full of soapy water. Before the startled hotel manager even had time to think about what the invention could possibly do, his entire torso was wetted with hot, soapy water.

Arwin frantically leaped at the vacuum cleaner and turned off the power switch. As he looked at his boss, he could practically see the steam spouting from his ears. Moseby pursed his lips and released a short, steady stream of soapy water.

Even as Arwin snatched at a towel to offer the manager, Moseby stood fuming.

"But, sir, this is my crowning achievement! I've finally perfected the P. U.!"

"The P what?"

"The P.U. It's designed to take the user into a parallel universe! Zack and Cody tried it out, but there were still some bugs to work out."

At this, Arwin opened the door of the booth and gestured towards it invitingly, and a multitude of flies and beetles crawled out.

"Yes," Moseby said slowly. "I noticed."

Arwin laughed nervously.

"I don't mean those bugs," he said. "You'll always have _those_ bugs. But the machine itself works like a dream."

Mr. Moseby examined the device carefully.

"Looks more like a nightmare."

"You look like you could use a vacation," Arwin insisted. "Why don't you just give the P. U. a try?"

"Forget it. Absolutely not."

Arwin's lip trembled as he looked at Mr. Moseby.

"Please?"

"Certainly not."

"I'll pay the fare for it."

Moseby began to walk away, but as soon as his back was turned, Arwin pulled another lever. Another ceiling tile folded in half and two more mechanical arms extended from it, holding another bucket. Moseby turned to Arwin with a pleading look.

"All right!" Arwin demanded, in a voice more than vaguely threatening. "Get in!"

Moseby sighed.

"Oh, fine! But if this thing doesn't work you need to throw this out, along with all the other junk in this room."

Arwin grinned and clapped his hands gleefully as Moseby stepped into the booth. Arwin inserted a coin into the slot and hit a few buttons on a keyboard held to the wall with duct tape.

"I know how much you enjoy old film noirs," Arwin said, "so I'm trying to program something suitable in."

He stepped out of the booth and closed the door.

"Now just hit that lever in there," he instructed. "Bomb voyage!"

"You mean _bon voyage!_" Moseby corrected. "And I'm starting to rethink this."

But as he tried to push the door back open, he tripped over the lever, and he was temporarily blinded by a flash of light.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When Moseby could see again, most of Arwin's inventions were gone, along with Arwin.

Moseby scratched his head as he found his way out of the P.U.

Then he heard the sound of a whaling saxophone on Arwin's radio, followed by the old-fashioned, folksy voice of a public radio announcer.

_"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. America. This morning, the local police department uncovered another illegal root beer distillery beneath the floor of the St. Mark hotel. Look at our boys go, cracking down on those fashionable bootleggers! In other news, Bruno the Brute has escaped the local penitentiary and is at large once again! Now, we return you to the sultry swing sound of…"_

Moseby turned the dial on the radio and the announcer was silenced with a click.

Then he walked through the doors of Arwin's lab and climbed the stairs to the Tipton's lobby.


	2. The Long Hello

_Disclaimer - I own no rights to the titles, characters, and trademarks herein._

My head was spinning like a revolving door and my stomach was reeling like a luggage cart. The Tipton itself looked pretty much the way I remembered it, but the people inside were a different story. All the dames were in furs and all the men were in fedoras. I followed the sound of a rhythm and blues melody to the Tipton showroom.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Carey was on stage, as usual, but the song was more old-fashioned, less contemporary than the popular numbers she usually performed. It was an old standard, a big band piece. She was wearing her already short black hair bobby style, and she looked like a million bucks in a sequined cocktail dress.

I drifted closer to the stage to hear her song. Then I spotted Mr. Candypants himself, Patrick the maitre d', with his usual carrot-colored goatee and upturned nose, in a waiting uniform, carrying a silver server.

"Something to drink, sir?" he asked me.

"Thanks," I said, "but shouldn't Rich or Gary be taking my order?"

He laughed an unusually throaty laugh.

"Rich and Gary are no longer employed here," he said. "The manager let them go due to their unsavory… eh… _extracurricular_ activities."

"The manager? But…"

"Are we going to gab all day or are you going to have a drink?"

"Root beer."

He eyed me sternly.

"Root beer? You know it's illegal for us to serve that here! Unless... eh…"

He held out his hand and caressed his own palm with his thumb. I took out my billfold and greased it with a couple fivers.

"And make it on the rocks," I instructed.

He marched away with his silver tray and his candy pants, and I turned my attention back to the show. Carey was warbling a Cole Porter tune far removed from her usual repertoire.

Patrick returned with a glass on his silver tray. I took a swig and several pebbles hit my teeth. I backwashed into the glass.

"What's this?"

"You said you wanted your drink on the rocks."

"But that means on ice!"

"Well, excuse me! Would you like another?"

"Oh, never mind!" I said, and I set the glass back on the server. Carey was finishing her number. As Patrick walked away, Carey climbed down from the stage and stepped closer to me.

"Nice to see you again, detective."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I didn't think you were going to come back after last night."

"But of course I did! Why wouldn't I?"

"Those two gave you a pretty bad roughing last night."

I rubbed my head. I certainly felt like I'd had quite a roughing.

"Carey, what is going on here?" I demanded.

At that point, Patrick returned and asked Carey if she'd like a drink. She requested her usual, on the rocks.

"You might want to double think those rocks," I said. "Now, would someone please tell me what's going on here?"

"You tell me," Carey said. "You're the detective."

The whole hotel felt like it was spinning. I reached out my hand and felt a table top. I slowly lowered myself into a chair.

"You'd better make that two," Carey instructed Patrick, who floated off with his silver server while Carey turned the chair in front of me around and straddled it.

"What year is it?" I asked.

"What? Are you nuts?"

"I just get a little confused some times. What year?"

"1930, the dawn of a new decade."

I hoped Patrick would get back soon with whatever Carey's usual was. _Had Arwin's ridiculous contraption actually… worked?_

I reached for the glass on the table and brought it to my lips.

"Everything all right?" Carey asked.

"Of course it is," I said. My voice sounded distant, alien, as if I was removed from it by a hundred years. Or at least half that long. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're trying to drink a lit candle."

I panicked. I threw the glass to the table, breaking free the wax and wick inside of it. The table cloth caught fire. I tried to bat it out with my sleeves. That's when Patrick reappeared. He shrieked like a two-year old girl and tossed the drinks all over the table, as well as me. I wiped the beverage from my eyes and flashed Patrick my meanest look.

"Looks like drinks are on you tonight," Patrick said. And then he laughed at his own joke. I hate it when he does that.

I looked over to see that Carey was chuckling a little bit, too. She wiped the smile off her face and reached into her sequined purse.

"He left this for you."

She slid a small, rectangular piece of paper at me.

"Who's he?"

She didn't answer my question. When I looked up, she was gone.

I looked at the piece of paper she had given me. In a sloppy scrawl of red ink, I could make out the writing "Here. Thurs. 9."

I flipped the card over, and I could barely believe my eyes. It was a business card. Centered on the card was simple, neat typing. Typewriter typing, not computer typing. It read:"Moseby, P. I." And an address.

I rose from the table and headed for the lobby. On my way out the main exit of the Tipton, a hotel staff member stopped me.

"You almost forgot these, sir."

And he handed me a trench coat and fedora.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The address on the business card was for my apartment, but I barely recognized the apartment building. The halls were damp and dusky, and lined with ugly, peeling wallpaper. My apartment was marked by a smoked glass window, the lettering on it matching that on the business card. I heard the bells and keys of an old-fashioned typewriter clattering inside.

When I opened the door, the room was lit only by slits of sunlight slipping through Venetian blinds. I could make out a shadowy figure in the corner. I opened the shades.

It was Maddie Fitzpatrick. She was wearing a billowy white blouse and a pleated skirt, and her hair was tied into tight pigtails with two brown ribbons. She wore a tiny pair of glasses and was making more noise chewing gum than she was punching keys on the typewriter.

"Hey, chief," she said, obnoxiously around the piece of gum. "I didn't hear you come in."

"So I take it you're my girl Friday?"

"But it's only Wednesday, boss," she said.

"Never mind."

And I took a seat behind the large wooden desk by the wall. My popsickle-stick replica of the Tipton was on top. At least that provided some comfort.

"So," said Maddie, "any leads on the case?"

I propped my feet up on the desk, careful to place them safely next to the miniature Tipton hotel.

"Maddie, refresh my memory," I said. "What is… _the case_?"

"Oh, you remember, boss," she said. "That Tipton guy came to see you."

"Tipton guy? What Tipton guy?"

"The one that owns the big hotel. You know. The one right across from the place where the cops just found the big Root Beer distillery."

"Yeah. I know it."

"Well, anyway, that Tipton guy came and asked you to find his daughter, the one what's disappeared."

"Disappeared? What did he say happened to her?"

Maddie looked concerned. She stood up from her fancy typewriter and placed a small hand on my forehead.

"Are you okay, chief? It sounds like those guys gave you a harder beating than I thought last night. Beat the memory out of you."

I pushed the hand away.

"I'm fine, Maddie," I said. "I just… haven't been myself lately. Just refresh my memory, okay?"

"He said she'd been hanging out at… that one place. You know, the other hotel. The one where they found the distillery…"

'The St. Mark," I said, not without a fair amount of loathing.

"That's the one. Anyway, he said she… I mean the dame what's his daughter…"

"London," I said.

"No. I'm Maddie."

"No. That's her name."

"Her name's Maddie?"

"No. London."

"I told you, my name's not…"

"Never mind, angel. Just finish telling me what he said."

"Oh. Well, he said that she'd been seen at that one place and then just… _Whoosh!..._ disappeared into thin air."

"And what did I say?" I asked.

"You said you'd take the case," Maddie said. "And then you told me you thought you had a pretty good idea who to talk to about everything."

"And who was that?"

"Hot Peppers."

"Hot Peppers? You mean the famous Boston mobster Hot Peppers?"

"That's right. Hot Peppers Julio Ricardo Montoya De La Rosa Ramírez. So my question to you is… did you find him?"

I turned the business card over and over in my hand.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I did."


	3. Boston Noire

_Disclaimer - I own no rights to the trademarks or characters herein. I own no rights at all. Thank you._

_**Suspension **_& _**RockDiva – **_**Thanks for your reviews. I wasn't going to continue updating the story until I received reviews. You let me know that another chapter would be worth my while.**

I took another nervous glance at my watch. 9:15. Whoever it was that wanted to meet me, they were late.

I was about to motion Patrick over to order another drink when I felt a tiny tap on my shoulder. I looked over my shoulder. Then I closed my eyes. I couldn't believe what I saw.

I opened them and looked again. I'd seen right. Zack and Cody Martin, the twin terrors of the Tipton, were standing there in pinstripe suits and fedoras.

"What are you two…?"

Before I could finish my question, Zack swung at me. I ducked down in my chair and watched the brass knuckles he was wearing pass over my head.

"Get up, mister," Cody chirped. "We're going for a ride."

"And what if I say no?"

I saw something pointing at me from Cody's pocket.

"Oh, the old finger in the pocket trick, huh?"

Cody pulled a gun out of his pocket. A Nerf dart gun.

"Oh, the old toy gun trick, huh?"

Cody fired it at a man whose back was turned to us. The suction cup of the soft foam dart stuck to his back. The man convulsed and then fell to the floor, writhing and gagging.

I raised my hands in surrender. I let the Tipton terrors wave me out of the hotel and to their getaway vehicle… an old-fashioned bicycle built for two.

"All right," Zack barked. "Get in the basket."

"I will do no such thing!"

Cody waved the gun and I climbed in. It wasn't a very good fit, but I tried to make myself comfortable and prepare for the long ride.

I heard the baseball cards spin in the spokes of the bicycle's wheels. Then we stopped.

It wasn't a very long ride. I recognized where we were immediately.

"The St. Mark Hotel?"

"That's right," Zack said. "How did you recognize it with the blindfold on?"

"Because I'm not wearing a blindfold."

Zack looked at me in disbelief and then stomped his foot.

"I knew we forgot something," he said. "Cody, why didn't you put the blindfold?"

"That was supposed to be your job!" Cody whined.

"Well, there's no sense crying about it. Let's just put the blindfold on him now."

I let them tie a bandanna across my eyes, and then they took me by the wrists and led me into to the hotel. I heard a door creek open. I felt them lead me down a flight of stairs. I heard a door creek shut. Then I smelled the sickly sweet scene of Root Beer. Dirty, bathtub Root Beer. Gallons of it.

"Now look around you, shamus," Zack said.

"No."

"He said look around you!" said Cody.

"I can't!"

"Why not?" Zack asked.

"Because I'm blindfolded!"

Cody laughed nervously.

"Sorry about that," he said.

Then he removed the blindfold.

"Bob! Warren! Look who we got here!"

I'd seen the two kids before. Bob was a chubby White kid with red hair and freckles. Warren was a chubby Black kid with spectacles. Warren was playing with a calculator. Bob was trying to clean his fingernails with an inkpen. He poked himself.

"Oww!"

"So who is it that we've got?" Warren asked.

Cody reached into my pocket and pulled out my business card. He handed it to Warren, who in turn handed it to Bob.

"What's an I. P.?" Bob asked.

"That stands for 'Internet Provider'," answered Cody.

"What's an Internet?" Bob asked.

Cody scratched his head.

"You know what? I have no idea!"

"That's not I.P.," I said. "It's P. I. It stands for 'private investigator'."

"Hey, go easy on him, wise guy!" Zack demanded. "He's dyslexic."

"Then it's a good thing your name's a palindrome, Bob."

"Hey, bub! No need for name calling here!"

"'Palindrome' is a word that's spelled the same forward as it is backwards," Warren explained.

"Well, it's still uncalled for!" Zack exclaimed.

Bob went back to cleaning his finger nails. He poked himself again. He cried out again. I sat down and looked around the room. Nobody said anything. I looked at my watch. There was no time for this.

"What am I doing here?"

"Calm down, buddy," Cody said. "The boss wants to have a little talk with you."

"And when is that?"

"I don't know," Zack said.

"You don't know, huh?" 

"Yeah," Bob said. "I think that's what he just said, actually."

I laughed.

"Suppose I don't want to wait."

"Listen, we got orders, you know," Cody said.

"Yeah," Zack added. "We were to nab you, ride around a little to get you disoriented, and then bring you here to sit and wait."

"And wait?"

"Just wait," Warren confirmed.

"Well, I'm not waiting," I said.

I stood up. Zack and Cody reached into their pockets, but their guns were stuck in the pocket and they struggled to bring them out. Warren and Bob both reached for something, but I growled and they stopped. Scared.

"I don't have time for this," I said. "Tell your boss if he wants to talk to me, I'll talk, but on my own turf? You got that?"

I started up the stairs.

"How will you know how to get back?" Cody asked.

"You didn't exactly make me dizzy on that bike ride. I know where the Tipton is from the St. Mark."

"Fine! Go!" barked Zack. "But we can't guarantee your protection once you go out those doors. It's a long way back, and a lot can happen if you get lost in this city. A lot of bad."

"I know where the Tipton is," I repeated. "It's two minutes out the door, if that."

Zack just stared at me for a moment. Then he said, "Oh."

I shook my head and made my way up the stairs.

I could here a rowdy jazz song playing as I made my way to the St. Mark's lobby.

_**A/N – To be continued…**_


	4. The Thin Manager

_Disclaimer – I don't own rights to anything in this story._

**Suspension – **_**I'm glad you're still enjoying this. I will try to continue, for your sake.**_

**Rage 5368 – **_**I like to give fans what they want, and I appreciate your hint-hint, but at this point I can not imagine Moseby with a love interest. We will see how things progress, however, and I hope you continue to enjoy this story.**_

I have not, do not, and will never take kindly to threats. I don't like them. They're rude. But even if the Tipton Terrors and their little friends had used good manners (something I've always put far past them) and asked me nicely, I still wouldn't sit nice like they asked me to.

As a detective, threats can only mean one thing to me. I'm close to something I shouldn't be. I found something that somebody didn't want me to find. But I don't know what it is. For all intents and purposes, I'm an amnesiac.

As I left the cellar, I was drawn by good music to the St. Mark's showroom. The clientele here didn't appear much different that at the Tipton at first glance. But a trained eye can spot that this is a mixing pot. The upper crust is rubbing elbows with the slime of the street gutters. An elderly lady with pince-nez, a bouffant hairdo, and a glimmering shawl over her conservative but expensive blue dress is chatting excitedly with a brute in a second-hand gray suit, a pompadour hairdo, and a heater bulging in his pocket. I wondered if it fired Nerf darts like Zack's and Cody's.

I recognized the showroom's headliner. It was Kurt Martin, Carey's ex-husband. The two were as different, and as much the same, as the hotels they performed in. Kurt was a handsome guy with hair greased back stylishly, an even tan, and an easy smile. His band's repertoire wasn't as mellow as Carey's. It was a little less jazz and a little more rock-and-roll. A little ahead of its time, but the crowd seemed to like it. The dames were swooning and the joes were tapping their feet.

When Kurt saw me, his easy smile vanished for a moment.

As soon as he finished the number, he parted the crowd and made his way straight for me.

"Hey there, pal," he said, giving me what was supposed to be a warm pat on the shoulder. But I saw fear in his eyes. He could belt out a nice tune, but he couldn't play on the level for a second.

"Name's not pal," I said. "It's Marian Moseby. I'm a private eye."

"Marian?" Kurt said. "Isn't that a girl's name."

"No," I said. "It's mine. And you ought keep your little monkeys in a cage."

"I'm sorry if my boys played rough, but I can only hold the reigns so tight, know what I mean, Maureen?"

"Marian."

"Yeah. Whatever. Look, can I buy you a drink?"

"In case you haven't noticed, mister, there's a Prohibition on."

"There's a Depression on, too," Kurt replied. "Everyone's depressed because they can't have anything to drink."

His smile became easier when he said that. Must have thought he was pretty clever.

"Where's the Tipton girl?" I asked.

"We don't exactly take kindly to visitors from the Tipton here, Marlene," Kurt said. I didn't even bother to correct him this time. "Not the Tipton girl, not my ex-wife, and not any of their ilk. And I think you're wearing out your welcome here, as well."

"You kicking me out?"

"That's not my place, Mary Anne. I'm just a lounge singer." He gently slapped my cheek, real playful-like. "I like you. But other people here might think otherwise."

"People like Hot Peppers?"

"Whoa there, Mary Sue! I never said Hot Peppers. But I think you'd better go."

"You threatening me?"

"No. I said I liked you. I'm just letting you off with a friendly warning. Now, if you'll excuse me, me and the gang have another number to do."

He stepped back towards the stage, and I stepped towards the exit, but I wasn't going to let him get the last word.

"Make sure Hot Peppers gets the message I left with your boys," I said. Then, defiantly, I added, "I'll be back later."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Maddie was listening to the radio when I got back to my office.

"President Richard Martinez visited San Francisco today," the news announcer said. "He was meeting with local law enforcement men. His daughter, America's Angel, was at his side."

America's Angel. Yep. That's what they called her.

"The President had this to say."

A new voice came over the radio. A casual, pleasant voice.

"Our country is a great one. And a great country isn't overrun with citizens controlled by such intoxicants as Root Beer, Cola, Soda, and other carbonated beverages."

I'm not much of a political man, but I liked Martinez. Seemed like good people. But I knew America wasn't going to stay a dry country for long.

Maddie switched the radio off and turned to me.

"I like this one," she said. "I tune in for his fireside chats all the time. You find Hot Peppers?"

"Not yet," I said. "What else, exactly, do we know about this case?"

"You know more about it than I do," Maddie said, absentmindedly twirling one of her long pigtails with a petite finger. She was wrong, of course, but I couldn't explain why, so I didn't bring it up. "You didn't talk about the case much. Usually just kept it to yourself."

"Mr. Tipton," I said. "When he hired us. What exactly did he say?"

"I don't remember."

"That's just great, Madeline."

"But I wrote it down."

A ray of hope.

"So where are your notes?"

"The Tipton guy made me tear them all up."

Ray of hope gone.

"Did he leave us a telephone number we could reach him at, or anything like that?"

"No, chief, he…"

"Let me guess. He told us not to get in touch with him, he'd keep in touch with us?"

"Wow, chief! I guess you remember this better than you thought!"

I sighed exasperatedly. Just then, the telephone rang. I pointed at it anxiously as Maddie raced to pick it up.

"Maybe that's him now."

But when Maddie picked up the phone and listened to the caller's voice, her face flushed and she began to tremble. She held the phone away from her mouth, covered the receiver, and then whispered, barely audibly: "Hot Peppers."

I snatched the phone from her hand.

"Your twin monkeys give you my message?" I asked.

I recognized Esteban's accent on the other end immediately.

"Where I come from, we have a name for people who won't wait when they are asked to."

"Really? And what's that?"

"Tired."

Same old Esteban. Even in this dimension, as a vicious gangster, he never ceased to confuse me.

"Why is that?"

"Because those people are tired from walking all the way to wherever they are going because they didn't wait at the mule stop long enough to catch the next mule to wherever they were going."

I was sorry I asked, but I didn't bother to say that aloud.

"I need to meet you," Esteban continued.

"Where at?"

"Here," Esteban said.

"Not there," I replied. "How about here?"

"No," Esteban said. "Someplace else."

"But that's neither here nor there."

"But it's either there or nowhere at all."

"I've been nowhere at all," I said. "It's not that hard to get a reservation."

"What about the restaurant behind the Tipton hotel?"

"What about it?"

"I hear their surf and turf is marvelous."

"Well, everything at the Tipton is marvelous. What of it, chum?"

"Meet me there tonight. Eleven. And bring cash."

"What for?"

"Because the surf and turf is expensive, and I'm not going to buy dinner for the both of us."

He didn't give me a chance to argue any further. Without another word from either of us, the line went dead.

The restaurant behind the Tipton it was.


	5. Murder Most Fouled Up

_Disclaimer – I don't own the rights to any of the characters in this story._

**Suspension - **_**Thank you for telling me which bits you like. The hardest part about writing humor is I'm never quite sure what other people will find funny. I'm glad my jokes haven't all been bombing.**_

I hung up the phone and straightened my fedora.

"I've got to go," I told Maddie.

"You're not actually going to meet Hot Peppers, are you, chief?" Maddie asked. "It could be a trap."

It was awfully sweet of her to be concerned. I told her as much.

"But it's the only lead I've got on finding London," I said. "If it's a trap, I guess I'll be springing it."

"At least go protected," Maddie said. "Open your top drawer."

I opened it. On top of a pile of newspapers was a spare tie, a Tipton match book, and a transparent orange water pistol. I lifted it carefully and shook it.

"It's not loaded," I said.

Maddie pointed to the water cooler in the corner of the office. I used the lukewarm water to fill the weapon and then put the cork back on tightly.

"Hold down the fort for me," I said.

"I can't," Maddie said sheepishly. I looked at her.

"What for?"

"I've got a date tonight," Maddie said. "Didn't I ask you for the night off? I probably forgot."

I had no idea whether she'd forgotten or not, but it wasn't something I'd put past her.

"You did."

"Can I have the rest of the night off?"

"Who's the lucky boy?"

"Oh, it's just a fella'. No one you'd know."

I thought of saying "Try me", but it really wasn't any of my business. I had bigger fish to fry.

"Have a good time," I said. "See ya tomorrow morning."

"Be careful out there," Maddie replied.

"Funny," I said. "I was about to tell you the same thing." Then I left.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I was afraid to tell Patrick who I was meeting with when I arrived at the Tipton. But the look on his face when I approached him told me he already knew.

"Your party's been expecting you," he said nervously.

Patrick led me to a booth in the far corner of the garden restaurant. Esteban was waiting for me. He had gone with the surf and turf platter. A long necked glass bottle was standing on the table in front of him. Esteban was sniffing at the wooden cork. It was Root Beer. But this wasn't the cut-rate bathtub variety. This was top-rate hooch. Name brand. Expensive. Buying a bottle was Esteban's way of sending me a message. Here was a man of power. I wasn't in Boston anymore. At least, not the Boston I knew.

"You two have fun," Patrick said. And then he ran away.

"You're late," Esteban said crossly. "Do you know what we call people who are late in my country? Hot."

Did I really want to know? I asked anyway.

"Why is that?"

"Because they missed the mule and had to wait under the hot sun at the mule stop until the next one."

Our waiter approached us and took my order, but the whole time he looked at Esteban apprehensively. I wasn't really in the mood for surf and turf. I ordered the Tipton's famous meat and potato platter.

Esteban filled a wine glass with the Root Beer and then offered to pour a glass for me.

"It's a very good year."

"No thank you," I said crossly. "It's Prohibition and I'm a law-abiding citizen."

Esteban glared at me angrily. I'd definitely insulted him.

"Just tell me where I can find the girl," I said.

Esteban looked outside of the booth and then at me.

"I'd like to," he said. "But I can't."

"Can't?" I said. "You trying to play smart?"

"I don't know that game," Esteban said. "So I definitely am not trying to play it."

"Come on, Hot Peppers. We can work some kind of deal out. Just let the girl go."

"I'd like out of this," Esteban said. "I never wanted to get in this deep. But there are bigger people in this."

"Bigger than Hot Peppers?"

Esteban nodded.

"How big, then?"

"As big as…" Esteban took a deep breath, looked around him again, and then hissed, "the Codfather!"

"You mean Godfather," I corrected.

"This is no time for joking, Mr. Moseby! We're talking about the Codfather!" Esteban said, his eyes deadly serious. "We can't talk here. Let's go someplace more secretive."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

We left before my dinner arrived. Esteban tried to blindfold me.

"Are we going to the basement of the St. Mark?" I asked.

"Well, no… well, yes, but…"

"Then I know the way. Let's go."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

In the St. Mark's basement, Esteban performed a paranoid check of every corner of the room. He looked at me pleadingly.

"I want out," he said. "But if the Codfather found out I'd talked to you, he'd have me whacked."

"By whacked," I said, "I assume you mean…"

"Hit, iced, bumped off, put in concrete shoes, taken out, wasted, sent off in the concrete elevator to the bottom floor, put to sleep with the fishes, made to push up dasies, forced to tiptoe on rainbows, deep-sixed, ix-nayed..."

"That's what I thought you meant," I said. "Go on."

"I'll tell you where the girl is," Esteban said. "But first I need you to promise me your protection."

"All right," I said. "Now where…"

Then Esteban's eyes grew wide as saucers. There was a tiny window at about ground level above us. A big red balloon had come flying through it. Esteban pushed me back.

I heard an explosion. There was water everywhere. Esteban was sitting stone still, soaking wet.

I felt his pulse. Nothing. I was alone in a tiny basement with a dead man.


	6. Trouble Ain't My Business

_Disclaimer – I don't own the rights to any of the characters in this story._

_**A/N – I know this chapter has been a while coming. More chapters will be coming soon.**_

I felt his wrist again. Nothing. I looked at the torn remains of the burst crimson balloon at Esteban's feet. Esteban "Hot Peppers" Julio Ricardo Montoya De La Rosa Ramírezhad been whacked.

I peered out the window the balloon had flown in from, but I saw nothing but the bottom of trees. I heard footsteps coming down the cellar stairs. Quickly, I pulled myself up through the tiny window. It was a tight fit, but I managed.

Peering down through the window, I could see Zack and Cody entering the room. They looked at their boss's body and began to examine the rest of the room. If I had stayed and spied, I probably would have been able to solve the entire case right there, but I knew sooner or later one or both of the twins would turn in my direction and the game would be up. So I made like Tom Cruise and banana split a tree leaf (or something to that effect.)

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

As I made my way away from the St. Mark, something hit me. A tree branch. I was too dazed to notice what was in front of me. But then something else hit me. An acorn. I suspect a squirrel in the tree had thrown it at me. Finally, a third thing hit me.

_I had nearly escaped a murder attempt!_

I had to lean against the tree to keep from fainting. I was dizzy. _I could have been killed!_ I hadn't thought anything of the balloon coming through that window. Now the other man in the tiny room was a stiff and I was barely walking myself.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I burst through the doors of the Tipton Hotel, staggered into the showroom, and grabbed Patrick by his lapel.

"Give me a drink!" I shouted in his face.

"Oh, really?" Patrick said. "I thought you said it was Prohibition and you were a law-abiding…"

"_Give me a drink!_" I shouted again, much louder this time.

Patrick shrieked and ran to the kitchen like a frightened bunny. Carey had finished her act and was sitting at a table sipping what was undoubtedly a cocktail of illegal carbonated substances.

"You've really been looking riled up lately, shamus," Carey said.

"_I could have been killed!"_

"You don't need to shout!"

"_I didn't realize I was… _shouting."

Patrick arrived with my drink and I chugged it down quickly. I then stood up and shouted.

"I need to find Arwin Hawkauser!"

Everyone in the room gasped loudly and then fell silent. Patrick kept giving me a funny look.

"Arwin Von Hawkhauser?" he sputtered. "You mean… the foreigner?"

"I mean Arwin," I said. "The inventor."

Everyone gasped again.

"He's an enemy," someone in the crowd said.

"Not one of us," agreed another.

"He spends all of his days in that crazy laboratory of his," Patrick said. "Nobody knows what he's working on."

"Some say he's working on a weapon," Carey added. "A weapon that will bring the whole country to its knees."

"I don't care what he's working on," I said. "I just need to find him."

"You're not welcome here anymore," Patrick said.

He put his arms around my waist and strained to lift me. He gave up, took a deep breath. He strained again. His face turned as red as his hair. I gave him a dirty look. He gave me an embarrassed one and laughed.

Then he snapped his fingers. Two oversized lugs lifted me up and tossed me outside. I landed in a puddle. When I looked up, they were wiping off their hands before reentering the Tipton.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I pulled myself up and was wondering if I should go back into the hotel and ask around for Arwin again or retreat to my office and cower behind my popsicle-stick Tipton. That's when I saw Carey coming through the revolving door.

"Hey, shamus," she said. "Looks like you could use a hand."

She offered me a silk handkerchief, which I used to wipe some of the mud off of my face.

"I know where you can find Von Hawkhauser," she said. "He came in to see the show once. People here didn't take a liking to him, but he took a liking to me. Gave me this card."

She handed me the tiny piece of paper.

"He's a little bit creepy," she said. "Weird, even. But despite the rumors, I think he's harmless."

"Thanks, toots," I said. "You're one in a million."

"With a heart of gold, Mr. Moseby," she said. "With a heart of gold."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Arwin lived in a decrepit, rundown castle, complete with a moat with alligators. By the putt-putt golf course. The painted wooden alligators looked like they were snarling at me. I crossed the drawbridge and knocked on the door.

Arwin stuck his head out. He had a snowy white van dyke beard and a monocle, with tape connecting the glass to the chain. He kind of looked like the man on the Monopoly box, except he was missing the top hat to cover his bald head.

"Hello?" he asked, in a thick European accent.

He squinted through his monocle. Then he screamed and ducked his head back inside.

I knocked again.

"Arwin!"

"Mother says I am not allowed to have strangers over," Arwin said as he peered out again. "Do I know you?"

"You do," I said. "Or at least… you will. I'm your boss… from the future."

Arwin's jaw dropped and he opened the door. I stepped in to the musty miniature castle and looked around.

"Arwin, who is zhat?" a female voice with the same thick European accent called out.

"It's no one, mother!" Arwin shouted back. "Just a friend."

He was studying me in a way that made me nervous.

"So, you're from ze future?" he began. "Tell me everything. About the flying cars and robot helpers and holographic films… and telephones zhat you can carry in your pocket!"

"One thing at a time, Arwin," I said. "My name's Marion Moseby. In the future, you developed some kind of machine to send me here."

"A time machine?"

"Something like that," I said. "Actually, he… well, you… said it was sending me to some parallel reality. It was made with…"

"I know!" Arwin said. "The _flux capacitor_!"

"No," I said. "No. Actually, it was more like a telephone booth and a garden hose."

Arwin looked at me with a blank expression for a second, then fire came into his eyes.

"I see exactly how zhat could vork!" he said.

"Good," I said. "I'll stay here while you build it."

Arwin sat down in a chair and continued to look at me.

"Nah," he said. "My research into such zhings hasn't become such that I feel comfortable yet building such a… such a…"

He paused for a moment.

"Zhat was a really long statement I just made," he said. "Vhere vas I?"

I shrugged my shoulders. Arwin stood up again.

"Herr Moseby, valk vit me and talk vit me."

Arwin draped a hand around my shoulder and led me through a door down a long hall that resembled a scrap heap.

"All of my inventions," Arwin said. "All intended for za betterment of man kind. But nobody understands. Zey call me a freak. Zey call my inventions ridiculous contraptions and… crazy experiments."

"Carey Martin says you're building some kind of machine that could bring the entire country to its knees."

"She said that?" Arwin blushed and pulled out a canvas with Carey's likeness on it. "I paint to," he said.

"I can understand why everyone thinks you're so creepy," I mumbled under my breath.

Arwin heard me.

"Zank you," he said with a big smile. Then the smile dropped. "That's not true."

"What's not?"

"Ze whole veapon zhat can bring ze whole country to it's knees' zing," he admitted crestfallenly. "I am a complete failure."

And he crumpled into a ball and started to cry.

"Is something wrong?" the female voice called out.

"I'm fine, mother!" Arwin called exasperatedly between tears.

I kneeled down beside Arwin.

"Look, Arwin…"

"Professor Von Hawkhauser, eef you pleeze!" snapped Arwin.

"Professor. You're actually quite brilliant. I really need that invention to get back to my own dimension. You're the only one who can help me. So, please, will you?"

Arwin looked up at me.

"Oh," he said, blushing again. "All right. But it may take days, even months until it is completed."

"What?!" I blurted. "You can't make anything any sooner?"

"If I send you back in an inferior device, who knows vhat could happen to you? No. I must create the perfect device. I vill send for you vonce the project is complete."

I shook hands with Arwin at the door and started to walk away.

"Arwin!" the woman called out. "Come help your mother in za kitchen!"

"Care for some fresh baked cookies before you go?" Arwin offered.

I declined and left the putt-putt castle.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Maddie was smiling, typing, and chewing gum when I got back in my office.

"Look, Maddie," I said. "Cancel all my appointments, don't let anyone in. I'm just going to go in my office and lay low for a while."

"Okay, chief," she said. "There's a client in there waiting to meet with you anyway."

"A client?" I gasped. "I don't need any more clients!"

"But I just spent an hour talking you up. She seems really nice, and you'll want to see her anyway. She's a real looker."

I groaned and stepped into my inner office. A woman was waiting there for me.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

My jaw dropped. She was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Smooth, mocha colored skin. Long, curly hair. She was wearing an outfit that was all business and yet she still looked ravishing in it. She was wearing just enough makeup to show she was more mature than her years.

Who was she?

"Marion Moseby? I'm Myra Mitchum."

"Mm-mm," I said.

"I'm the manager of the Tipton Hotel."

I stared.

"A woman?"

"Yes. I see you're the right detective for the job. Your powers of observation are astounding."

"Sarcasm is my line, sister," I said. "And I'm afraid I'm not the right detective for the job. I'm not taking any cases right now. You're going to have to go."

I couldn't believe I was saying that. Normally, I would have loved for the mysterious Miss Mitchum to stick around so I could get to know her better. But right now, staying alive was more important.

Myra didn't flinch.

"You haven't even heard what I have to say yet. I came all the way here, and I'm not leaving until you hear me out."

"All right," I said, waving my arm. "Proceed. But I'm still not taking the case."

"You were recommended to me by everyone I asked. They say you're a man who can get things done. And Miss Fitzpatrick speaks very highly of you. I know you pay for her loyalty, but she seems like a good character and she seemed sincere."

I sat down and tried to look annoyed. _Myra Mitchum was so beautiful_.

"I'm not an idiot," Myra continued. "I know what's going on in my hotel. The bootlegging. I don't like it. The Tipton is a respectable place, not a speakeasy."

Loyalty to her position at the hotel. If there was anything that could make me even more attracted to her, that was it.

"Didn't you fire two waiters there?" I asked.

"Rich and Gary," she said. "But they were nothing. Pie pan grease. This thing goes deep. I want to know who's in charge of the operation."

"How deep do you think it goes?"

"That's exactly what I'm here for. I want to get to the root of the problem so I know where to pull the weed at." She rose and put a hand on the knob of the door of my inner office. "But you're not interested in taking the case, so I guess I'll find another snooper to do my bidding."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But I just can't afford to take on any more cases right now."

For a moment her bravado faded, and I saw a frown and sad eyes that made my heart start bleeding. The knob turned, and so did she. She gave me one last, pleading look.

"Wait a minute," I said, before she could disappear through the door. "I already have some leads on your problem. I'll do some digging, see what I can find."

"Will a hundred be good for a retainer?" she asked.

"Fine with me, sweetheart," I replied. "And I get ten bucks a day plus expenses after that."

She nodded curtly.

"Thank you, Mr. Moseby," she said.

"Call me Marion."


	7. The Doorman Rang

_Disclaimer - I don't own any rights to Zack, Cody, or any of their related characters._

"I told you she was a doll," Maddie said with a smile as I stepped out of my inner sanctum.

"She sure is," I muttered. I turned to Maddie. "This is getting convoluted, angel. Take down some notes."

"From where?" she asked.

I tried to control my temper. This Maddie wasn't as bright as the one I was used to, but I knew she still meant well.

"Just write this down," I said. "Item one. London Tipton. Where is she? Who has her? Item two. Hot Peppers. Who killed him?"

Maddie stopped writing and looked at me.

"Hot Peppers was murdered? When?"

"Last night, when I went to see him. I didn't see the guys who did it."

"Did you report it to the police?"

"Good idea, bright eyes. I probably should. Item three. Bootlegging at Tipton. Where's the hooch being manufactured, and who's behind that?"

"How do you spell that?" Maddie asked.

"What? Manufactured? M-A-N-U…"

"No," Maddie said. That. Is it T-H-E-T or T-H-A-D?"

"T-H-A-T," I corrected.

"Got it! Is there an Item four?"

I thought about it for a moment.

"Yes, there is. Item four. The Codfather. Who is he and where does he fit into all of this?"

"The Codfather?" Maddie looked as shocked as a vegan who'd just found out her salad had meat, egg, and cheese in it. "He's the biggest crime boss in Boston, maybe even in the entire United States. Are you absolutely sure you're going up against him?"

"I'm not sure of anything right now, Maddie, but it's a very real possibility right now."

Maddie's shocked expression faded into an amply impressed one.

"Looks like you've got quite a few storylines to contend with, boss," she said.

"I know," I said. "And I think I know where to start. I'd better check with the flatfoots, see what they know about Hot Peppers. Maybe find some more info."

I grabbed my fedora from the hat rack and adjusted it on my head.

"By the way," I asked Maddie, "how was your date the other night?"

"Date?" Maddie looked more confused than usual. "Oh, right. That boy. It went swell. In fact, I think I'll be seeing him a lot more often, if it's all right with you."

"Madeline, your personal life is no concern of mine."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I'd like to report a murder," I said. The desk clerk jerked a thumb towards the homicide office.

I was beyond stunned to find out who the homicide coppers were. Lt. Ilsa Shickelgrubermeiger-Von Helsinger Keppelugerhoffer, who I knew as the manager of the St. Mark Hotel, and Sgt. Skippy, who I knew as the night manager at the Tipton.

"Who are you?" Ilsa asked. "Vhat are you doing here?"

Ilsa spoke like she always did, with the same accent Arwin was using. I wondered why everyone was so paranoid about Arwin, yet Ilsa was allowed such a high-ranking position on the police force.

"I'm here about Hot Peppers, a mobster you've been looking for quite some time," I said. "I've got it from a good source that he's been murdered."

"How good is this source?" Skippy interjected.

"Excellent," I said. "I trust him as much as I trust myself."

"And vhere do you suggest zhat ve look for ze body?" Ilsa asked.

"The cellar of the St. Mark," I said. "Same place you flatfoots uncovered the illegal soda pop distillery."

Ilsa and Skippy both laughed.

"What's so funny?" I asked. "Let me in on the joke, why don't you?"

"There was a raid on the St. Mark last night," Skippy said. "We found nothing. Especially not the body of an infamous gangster."

I felt stunned, as if someone had kicked me in the face with my own polished shoe.

"That… that… can't be right," I stammered.

"You could even go down zhere and look for yourzelf," Ilsa said. "Zhat is, if ze St. Mark staff lets you. Now ze sergeant and I are very busy, so I zuggest you get lost."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

As I stepped out of the police station, I added a fifth item to my list. Item five. Esteban's body. Where did it go?

That's when I saw her. She was peeking behind the corner of another building at me. When she saw me, she began running.

I ran after her. She hooked it around a curve. She was young and athletic, and I was rusty and out of breath. I thought I'd lost her. But as I rounded the corner, I saw that the broken heel on her designer shoe had saved me.

I grabbed London by the arm. She squawked.

"London Tipton," I said. "I'm a friend of your father's. I'm…"

"I know who you are," she said. "You're Marion Moseby. You're a private investigator."

"I was hired to find you," I said. "Where have you been?"

"I'm fine," London said. "But I need your help. You've got to… Oh, no!"

She looked at something past me and screamed. She broke out of my grip and ran off.

I looked where she had been staring.

I saw a kid sitting behind the wheel of a car.

His hair, long down the neck and slicked back, was as even oilier than his smile, and that was saying a lot. He was sitting in his car like trained tails do, not looking at me the way trained tails are trained not to look.

I walked to the car. No reaction. I tapped on the window.

"Nice suit," I said. "Want something?"

He didn't turn, didn't flinch, didn't acknowledge me in any way.

I shrugged and started walking away. He didn't move.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I scampered down an alleyway. Zack and Cody were standing there as if they'd been waiting for me. They probably had.

"You guys looking for trouble?"

"No," Zack said. "We're looking for you."

"Our boss is dead," Cody said. "And we know he was meeting with you."

"What did you kids do with the body?" I asked.

"What body?"

"Your boss'. I know you hid it."

Zack and Cody looked blankly at me, and then at each other.

"We left the body in the cellar," Zack said. "Right where we found it."

This situation was growing more confusing by the second. Someone was lying. But who?

"The flatfoots couldn't find it," I told the twins. "They don't even believe he's been murdered."

"Well, we're going to have to go in and tell them ourselves," Cody said.

Cody took a step towards the police station. Zack put a hand out to stop him.

"We can't just walk into the police headquarters," he said. "We're wanted men."

"Maybe I am," Cody said. "Nobody wants _you._"

"No. I mean wanted criminals. We'll find some other way to get the word out." He stuck his chin out at me. "Nice knowin' you, Moseby."

He and Cody began to walk away. I cleared my throat.

"Oh, boys," I said. "You might want to know that you let London Tipton escape."

They offered me nothing but confused looks.

"The society dame," I said. "I just saw her."

"We don't know nothing about no society dame," Zack said.

"We don't know _anything _about _any _society dame," Cody corrected. "Haven't

you ever heard of double negatives?"

"You mean you haven't been keeping London locked up somewhere?"

Zack shook his head.

"Anyway, we'll be spreading the word about Hot Pepper's murder."

"I kinda get the impression that maybe you did the boss in yourself."

"What do you mean?" Zack asked.

"I think he means whacked him," Cody said.

"Iced him, bumped him off," I added.

"Put in concrete shoes, taken out, put in the concrete elevator to the bottom floor,"

Cody finished.

"I know what he meant!" Zack shouted at his brother. He turned to me. "I meant what do you mean making accusations like that?"

"We'll be in touch," I said.

I went back to where the mysterious car had been parked. The car was gone. But something had been left in its place. A strange gizmo that resembled a shirt button tied to a miniature light bulb. I pocketed the item and caught a cab to the castle by the putt-putt golf course.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Mr. Moseby! So nice to see you again," Arwin said, anxiously inviting me in.

"How's the invention coming?"

"I am making progress, but I warned you, zese zings can't be rushed!"

I asked if I could see what he had so far, but he refused to show me. Instead, he took me on a tour of the other inventions he had made.

"I've got to hand it to you, professor," I said. "I underestimated you. These inventions are ingenious."

Arwin shrugged his shoulders.

"Why is everyone so afraid of you?" I asked.

Arwin took a seat in a chair. Two gloves strapped to a series of strings, pulleys, and gears on the chair began to give him a back massage.

"Zhat I do not understand," he said. "I vant to share my inventions with ze world, but no one will trust me to see zem."

He sighed and leaned back in the chair. I stuck a hand in my pocket and felt the device I had found earlier. I pulled it out and handed it to Arwin.

"What can you make of this?"

Arwin straightened up and studied the gizmo intently.

"Very interesting," he said.

"What does it do?" I asked.

Arwin paused for a moment and studied the gizmo again.

"I have no idea," he said, and then handed the gadget back. "Where did you find it?"

"Someone dropped it. Someone in a car that was following me."

Arwin stroked his white beard.

"I vould say zhat you have found a piece of alien technology," he said. "Either zhat, or zis item belongs to ze government, and za man zat vas following you vas a spy."

At this point, I didn't no which idea was crazier.


	8. The Glaski

_Disclaimer - I have no legal rights to any elements of "The Suite Life of Zack and Cody."_

It took me a while to get back to the office. When I came in, Maddie was gone.

There was a note on her desk.

_Chief_, it read, _Had to close up shop early for the night. Thought you'd understand._

It was signed, _Your Angel._

I smiled and set the note down, then opened my desk drawer. There was the infamous office bottle. Apparently, I really wasn't a teetotaler. It was ginger ale. I took a swig. Flat and nasty. I loosened my tie and took another. It was growing on me.

I wanted to get some sleep, but I had too many questions on my mind. Why had London disappeared? What had she been trying to tell me earlier? What did any of this have to do with Esteban's murder?

It really shouldn't have been any of my business. As soon as Arwin finished his dingus I'd be back in my own world tending to the Tipton.

I closed my eyes and put my feet up on the desk. I heard something break. It was my popsickle-stick Tipton! I could've cried.

I found some glue and started sticking it together, the whole time asking myself what I was going to do next. The Tipton and the St. Mark would be closed. No way to work on Myra Mitchum's case.

There was a knock on the door. The imposing silhouette told me who was standing at the door before I opened it.

Ilsa came in, with Skippy following close at her heels.

"Good news, Mr. Moseby," she said. "We believe you about Mr. Julio Ricardo Montoya De La Rosa Ramírez's murder."

"You're going downtown with us," Skippy said.

He tried to smoothly bring a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, but they slipped out of his hand and hit Ilsa in the head. She turned and glowered at him.

"If you're taking me downtown, I want to know the charges, and I want to hear my rights."

"What rights?"

Oh, yeah. I was still decades ahead of the Miranda.

"Vhat do you think, gumshoe?" Ilsa asked. "Ve're bringing you in for zhe murder of Mr. Julio Ricardo Montoya…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get ya," I said.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I spent the rest of the night sweating it out at the police station. They're fan was broken and it was a hot night. The flatfoots even brought in the District Attorney.

The D.A. made me nervous. Like Myra Mitchum, he was a stranger to me, someone with no equivalent in my own world. He was a thin man with a pencil mustache. His name was Glaski. Theodore "Teddy" Glaski.

"Who are you kidding?" I said. "You got the D.A. here. He knows there's no case. You don't even got a body."

"We don't need a body, smartso," Glaski said. "We got witnesses. Witnesses that will testify that you were the last one to see Ramirez alive. Unless you got someone else to take the heat. We need a fall guy."

A guy that was honest about being dishonest. This was a new low for slimy D.A.'s in film noirs everywhere.

That's when the D.A. opened the newspaper, and I saw it.

"Him," I said, pointing at the paper.

Glaski looked at the picture and laughed.

"Cody Martin," he said. "Forget it. He has a perfect alibi for the night of the murder. See this article? He was giving a lecture at some big charity ball."

I glanced over the article.

"What about Zack?"

The three in the room looked at me like I was crazier than a squirrel missing an acorn in the middle of the traffic. Then they looked at me with distaste, as if they knew I was narrating the story in my head with bad similes and metaphors.

And then I realized it. Maybe I did know a little more than I thought. I was ahead of the game. Nobody else seemed to realize that Cody Martin always had a perfect alibi… because he had a twin!

"So unless you got a theory on how Cody could have a perfect alibi and still…"

"I may be a lot of things," I said. "But Big Beulah Moseby didn't raise any children dippy enough to go shooting off daffy theories in front of a D.A. So if you want me then book me and put me in the clink, or let me walk."

"All right," Glaski said. "They can't put you away… yet. But don't leave town. I don't need a body to prosecute, but I do need a defendant!"

I turned to Skippy before I left.

"You're a good kid, Skippy," I said. "But if you want to be a hero, you've got to get out of this good cop/bad cop routine. Your partner's badge is pinned to slime."

"Slime?" Skippy said. "Eww! Gross!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Maddie was waiting for me when I came into the office.

"Chief!" she said, her face showing more than the usual amount of concern. "You look awful. You've been wearing that same suit for a week. You've even been sleeping in that, haven't you?"

"I've hardly slept at all since I took this case," I said.

"And you've got bad B.O.," she said, fanning the scent away from her nose. "And are you ever planning on shaving?"

I felt my chin. It was bristlier than it should have been.

"I can worry about all of that when I get this mystery sorted out."

I told Maddie about my encounter with the slimy D.A. and my "daffy theory" about the twins.

"The cops have been trying to nail Cody Martin for all kinds of crimes," Maddie said. "They've had witnesses and everything, but he's always had an alibi. You're saying that all of this time he was a twin?"

"That's it exactly, bright eyes," I said. "It seemed like a surprise downtown at the station, but it's common knowledge among the criminal class in this city. Cody's the brains of the operation, Zack's the muscle. If I can prove they're twins, I can put this Hot Peppers thing to rest."

I turned to the door. I put my hand in my pocket and found the item I'd showed Arwin.

I tossed the button on Maddie's desk. Her face registered complete surprise.

She slowly turned to me.

"I don't sew buttons, Chief," she said.

I stuck the gizmo back in my pocket.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Outside my office, I decided I'd attend to Myra's problem. I took a quick trip to the Tipton.

Patrick offered me a drink, but I wasn't looking for hooch. I was looking for information.

I grabbed him by the lapel and slammed him against the wall.

"You're not going to make a habit out of this, are you?" he asked.

"I want answers, Candy Pants!" I said.

"No, no, no!" he said. "I may have candy _in _my pants. You know, some coconut-flavored bubblegum in the pockets, but…"

"Who's behind the bootlegging? Tell me!"

"Bootlegging? Sir, this is the Tipton. We don't…"

"Someone's turning my precious Tipton into a speakeasy, and you know who. It's not you. You're small fish."

Patrick's mouth fell open wide.

"Fish? You mean… the Codfather?"

I shook him.

"Who's the Codfather? What's he got to do with this?"

"I don't know! I don't know!"

I pulled his collar up higher around his neck.

"All right," he squeaked. "The Codfather puts one guy in charge here, one guy at the St. Mark."

"Who? I want names!"

"I don't have names! I'm just a small guy, like you said. Please don't hurt me."

I released my grip.

"The operation at the St. Mark was shut down. Not so here. Why?"

"The police raided the place a few times," Patrick said. "They never found anything. That's all I know. I swear!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I had some free time on my hands, so I decided to mosey on over next door, to the St. Mark.

The people there weren't so happy to see me, but I managed to muscle my way into the lounge where Kurt was rehearsing his act.

"Hey, Marlena," he said.

"Marion," I corrected.

"Whatever. I thought I told you that you weren't welcomed here."

"I need

words."

"I'll buy you a dictionary."

"Still making with the jokes, huh? Well, I didn't come here for vaudeville."

"What did you come here for, then, Mary Lane?"

"The Root Beer distillery was shut down here, but not across the street at the Tipton. Yet there both run by the same outfit. Why is that?"

"Bad luck, that's why, Mary Jane."

"Who was running the operation?"

"I got my secrets."

He was starting to sweat. That was good for business. Very good.

"Cops are looking for your twin terrors," I said. "If you got any sense, you'll give up their secrets. Turn 'em in."

"Forget it, Mary Jane. Now blow."

I blew.


	9. The Little Sitter

_Disclaimer - I still don't own anything._

When I left the St. Mark, I noticed the car parked outside. It was the same car that had followed me earlier, with the same oily little man behind the wheel. I took some fancy shortcuts back to my apartment in an attempt to lose him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I opened my office door. There was Maddie, sitting at the desk, with two other girls her age, all with the same pouty lips and pig tails. A picnic was spread out on her receptionist desk. I tiptoed in quietly, so as not to disturb anyone.

"I can't tell you much about the case," Maddie was saying. "Client confidentiality and all that stuff, but my boss is going to solve it and bring those mobsters down. He's the greatest detective in all of Boston."

"So, have you ever actually met the Codfather?" one of the girls asked.

"No, Corrie," Maddie said. "Not yet, anyway."

"He probably won't," the other girl said. "The Codfather might not even exist. Some say he's just a spook story to scare away the cops."

"No, Mary-Margaret," Corrie insisted. "There really is a Codfather. I heard that every month, he calls a meeting of his whole crime family to have dinner in the Tipton ballroom."

"Well, we're going to find out whether there's a Codfather or not," Maddie said. "Mr. Moseby's been making trouble for him and his entire syndicate for the last year, and this last case is leading right up to the big fish himself!"

"So, London Tipton's really involved in the case?" Corrie asked excitedly. "Have you met her yet?"

Mary-Margaret scoffed.

"She probably has a better chance of meeting the Codfather," she said.

"Not yet," Maddie said, ignoring Mary-Margaret's comment, "but she's involved in this, too. And that hotel of hers. Mr. Moseby's latest client…"

I cleared my throat.

"Oh, hi, chief!" Maddie said with that big old grin of hers.

"Hey, Angel," I said. "These friends of yours?"

"Corrie, Mary-Margaret, and I all babysit for extra cash when we're not working at our other jobs," Maddie said.

"And you visit when you _are_ working your other jobs?"

"That's right!" Corrie said, grinning and nodding excitedly.

"We get together some times to exchange the latest gossip," Mary-Margaret said.

"For example," Corrie said, "London Tipton. Last I heard, she was dating a racketeer! Isn't that awfully exciting!"

My ears perked up.

"A racketeer?"

"Yeah," Mary-Margaret said. "That's why she was haunting the St. Mark so much. That's her man's stomping grounds."

And that's when I realized it. Just like how I knew Zack and Cody were twins when everyone else was oblivious to it. I had the answer to this mystery ahead of time, too.

"Todd," I said.

"That's right," Corrie said. "Toothy Todd. How'd you know?"

"Because I'm Sherlock Holmes," I said out of the side of my mouth.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Corrie said. "But Maddie said your name was Marion Moseby."

Maddie looked at her sympathetically while Mary-Margaret just rolled her eyes. Then Maddie turned to me and smiled again.

"Your doll's at your desk waiting for you."

I straightened my tie and slicked my hair back. Well, the little bit of hair that I had, anyway.

"Maddie," I said. "When you're finished with your picnic, find out everything you can about this 'Toothy Todd the Racketeer'."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I still couldn't quite prepare myself for Myra. She looked even more beautiful than last time. I started feeling things tough guys don't feel, like butterflies in my stomach.

I sat down and bit on the end of a match.

"Making any progress on my case?" she asked.

"Some," I said. "Had to break a few teeth, but I got some answers."

"So who's running the show?"

"I don't know that… yet. But I can tell you this, there's a bent flatfoot involved."

The match dangled in the corner of my mouth as I talked.

"A what?"

"A crooked cop," I said. "A dirty rat. A rotten apple. Someone inside the department tips off the Tipton."

I chuckled.

"What are you smiling about?" Myra asked.

"I just thought that was a clever turn of phrase right there," I said. "You know. _Tipped off theTipt-on_."

She didn't laugh. Instead, she leaned forward and pulled the match out of my mouth.

"You know what I think, Moseby?" she said.

"I don't," I said. "But I'd gladly give you a penny for your thoughts."

"I think," she said, "that you're really new to this whole tough guy thing."

I cringed. Was she figuring out that I didn't really belong here? No one else had shown any signs of suspecting it so far.

"I think," she continued, "that your tough demeanor and witty turns of phrase are all cover-up. I think, deep down inside, that you're just a great big softy."

"Stop it," I said. "You'll give me a big head."

"I really mean it," she said. "You can stop talking like you're something out of the pulps around me. I think, for all you're bluster and bravado, that you're actually a nice, caring guy with a big heart."

Maybe she was right. My big heart was beating all right, and I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her that she had me pegged. I wanted to tell her that I had never met a dame like her before.

I started to lean closer to her and fell over on the newly-repaired popsickle-stick Tipton, knocking it to pieces yet again.

That's when Maddie burst in carrying a sheet of paper.

"Sorry to interrupt, boss," she said. "Urgent telegram for you."

I read the telegram excitedly. It was from Arwin.

_Eureka!,_ it said. _I have done it!_

I stuffed it in my pocket and turned to Myra.

"I'd like to continue this," I said. "But I can't right now. I really have to go."

Myra just looked at me angrily. I asked Maddie to look after her and get her anything she'd want, hoping she'd stick around until I got back. _If _I got back. It was dawning on me that if Arwin had really created the machine, I'd be out of this noir nightmare – and away from Myra – forever.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Arwin was waiting excitedly for me. I hadn't seen such a ridiculous grin on his face since before I arrived in this dimension.

"It's finished!" he declared happily. "Zhere vas a bug in it zhis morning."

"But you got the bug worked out?"

"Zhe bug vas my pet spider," Arwin said. "It vorked like a charm. He went to another dimension. Either zhat, or he exploded into a zhousand tiny pieces."

I turned and started to walk away, but it occurred to me my only choices were take my chance with whatever contraption Professor Von Hawkhauser had cooked up, or be stuck amongst mobsters and kidnappers that wanted me dead forever.

I turned around and walked back to Arwin.

"All right, professor," I said with a sigh. "Do what you must."

Arwin clapped his hands together gleefully and led the way to a dingus that vaguely resembled the dark horse I rode in on.

"Simply step inside zhe machine and pull zhat lever," Arwin instructed.

I stepped inside and closed my eyes. Then I took a deep breath. I got a bitter sweet feeling in my chest. Part of me wanted to stay, wanted to prove the Tipton terrors were involved in bumping off Esteban. Wanted to unmask the Codfather. Wanted to get closer to Myra Mitchum. But mostly, I just wanted to go home. I opened my eyes and pulled the lever.

Nothing happened. I closed my eyes, took another deep breath, opened them again. Pulled the lever. Still nothing. I closed my eyes, took another deep breath, opened them again. Pulled the lever. Nothing.

With my eyes wide opened, I toggled the lever back and forth desperately. Arwin opened the door and pulled me out.

"It's not working!" I said. "Why not?"

"Vell, first of all, it has to be a dark and stormy night," Arwin said.

"That should be no problem," I said. "We're in a film noir story. Every night's dark and stormy."

"Look closely," Arwin said. "Is there any difference between zhis P.U. and the one in your dimension?"

I looked at the machine. It looked identical to the one I'd seen, except for the obvious changes due to the time period. Then it dawned on me.

"There was some sort of panel with buttons on it inside," I said. "You entered something into the panel after I got in."

Arwin's face fell.

"A filter!" he cried. "By putting a filter in zhe device, your Arwin has distorted zhe reality. He may have even constructed more of a virtual reality than sent you through to an actual dimension!"

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Arwin said very slowly, as if preparing to explain to a child, "zhat you cannot return through zhe device until you have fulfilled zhe parameters of zhis reality vhich he has zent you to!"

"What does that mean?"

"Since you're a private eye, I guess that means you've got to solve your entire caseload. But that shouldn't be any problem, right?"

"I've got about a hundred cases to solve right now!"

Arwin pushed me towards the door.

"Zhen I suggest you get started right avay," he said. "Now you must go! Zhis is zhe time of day mother likes me to massage her bunions!"

With that terrifying image burned into my head, Arwin pushed me outside and slammed the door in my face.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I was slowly heading back to the street to hail a cab for my place. That's when I saw her again. London Tipton was sitting next to the giant wooden hippopotamus.

I took a seat next to her.

"You're Mr. Moseby, the private eye?" she said.

"Yeah," I said. "And you're London Tipton."

She gasped and then smiled delightedly.

"You must have seen my picture in all the papers," she said.

"Not exactly," I said. "Your father hired me to find you."

"But you can't take me to daddy!" she said. "Not yet! I need to hire you. I can pay you money."

"First you need to talk to me," I said. "Who snatched you?"

"Nobody snatched me," London said. "They snatched my boyfriend, Todd." She

sniffled and then continued. "Daddy didn't want me to see Todd because…"

"Because he worked at the St. Mark?"

"No. Because he's a bootlegger. Anyway, I ran away to be with him. But he's disappeared."

"The flatfoots must have got him when they raided the distillery beneath the St. Mark's floor."

"No. He got away. But he disappeared after that. I haven't seen him since."

"Your boyfriend's no good," I said. "He's a bootlegger. A criminal."

"He's not the bad guy," London insisted. "It's the law that's wrong. Todd says people should be allowed to drink any carbonated beverage they want, in moderation. Unless they drink too much. He says that makes their teeth rot. And he's very concerned with teeth. That's why they call him toothy Todd."

London began to cry. I reached into my pocket to pull out my hankie, but my tie went over my arm and London grabbed it. She blew her nose on that instead. When the end was all wet, she pulled down on the tie to find a clean spot, pulling it tighter around my neck. The tie was strangling me like a boa constrictor.

"London!" I gasped. "I'm choked…"

"So you're all choked up about this too!" London said with a ray of hope in her voice. She threw her arms around my neck, choking me further with her bear hug. "So you'll take my case."

"Sure," I said. "I'll do anything. On one condition."

"Oh, anything!" London exclaimed.

"Let me take my tie off," I said. "You're choking me!"


	10. The Doorman Always Rings Twice

_Disclaimer: I don't own legal rights to this stuff._

London embraced me even more tightly. As I was choking for breath, I noticed the car. The same one that had been tailing me since I took Myra's case. Maybe even longer.

I pushed London away.

"You've got to get away from me right now," I said. I stuck my card into her pocket. "Wait two hours then go to that address. If I'm not there, tell my girl Friday to call in the bulls."

"But it's only Saturday," she said. "And what do you need bulls for? They're ugly and smelly, and you don't look very much like a farmer."

"Not the kind of bulls I was talking about," I said. "Though some of them are very stinky and ugly. Now blow."

She blew. Her breath wasn't bad, but that hadn't been what I'd had in mind.

"I meant leave."

"Oh, okay."

And she blew for real.

I started walking the other way. After a while, I stopped walking and started running. I looked over my shoulder. The tail wasn't subtle at all. I could still see him. But I couldn't lose him. I went faster, weaving in and out of every dark alley I could find.

Then I remembered the dingus in my pocket. I looked at it and could see that the little light bulb on it was flashing red. I took it out of my pocket and stomped on it.

It was too little too late. The little man was out of his car. Two imposing looking women in nun's habits were standing behind him, wielding rulers like blackjacks.

"I can't believe you destroyed that," the oily kid said. "That's government property."

"What have you been following me for?" I asked. "Are you on the Codfather's payroll?"

"Certainly not," the oily boy insisted. "I work for Uncle Sam."

"By Uncle Sam, I take it you mean J. E. H.?" I said.

He flashed me a badge.

"Agent Stickler, Federal Bureau of Investigations," he said. He motioned to the two nuns. "These are Agent Dominick and Agent Rose. You just destroyed my special F.B.I. button-flashlight homing device."

"What do the Feds want with me?" I asked.

He pulled out what looked like a pair of sunglasses.

"After I put these special F.B.I. blunt force trauma glasses on you," Stickler said, "you'll wake up with a headache and no memory of us blowing our cover."

He reached the sunglasses closer to my face, but I twisted his arm and the glasses dropped onto his own nose. He collapsed to the ground.

I'd found the only person in the world who was worse with gadgets than Arwin Hawkhauser.

Agent Dominick and Agent Rose pulled the unconscious Agent Stickler to his feet.

"This is a federal matter," Agent Dominick said. "We'll be in touch."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A federal matter? I'd get out of it if I could. But I was already in it. Wading through deep and deeper.

I got back to the office. London arrived shortly after I did.

Maddie looked confused as I entered with the girl.

"Maddie, this is London Tipton," I said. "London, this is Madeline Fitzpatrick, my personal assistant."

"Oh, good," Maddie said. "You found her then."

"Afraid it's not that simple, angel," I said. "I need you to look after London for a while. Make sure nothing happens to her."

London sat in a chair in front of Maddie's tiny desk.

"I just know the two of us are going to be really good friends," she said.

"Why is that?" Maddie asked.

"Because now I have someone I can sit with and talk about how much more money I have than you do."

Maddie frowned.

"I'll have you know, spending money like it's going out of style, is out of style."

"Oh, no it's not!" London insisted. "I know all about style."

"You make me sick," Maddie said. "I bet your old man didn't lose one dime in this Depression."

"A dime?" London said, looking quizzically at Maddie. "What's that?"

"I promise nothing'll happen to her," Maddie said. "That is, if I don't kill her."

"Well, good luck with _that_," I said, and I headed back out the door.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I headed over to the St. Mark Hotel. I was hating the place even more than when I first went there. But I had to take one more look in the basement.

It was cleaner than the last time I was down there. Just a furnace and some dust. No chairs. No empty bottles. And not even a single piece of rubber balloon to suggest that Esteban had been killed there.

When I went upstairs I saw Zack and Cody looking threateningly up to their father. I hid behind a pillar nearby to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"We know he's been coming around here," Cody said. "We don't want you talking to him anymore."

"Hey, give me a break," Kurt said. "It's not like I've been looking for him. This Mary Sue guy keeps coming and bothering me."

"Well, you don't have to talk back," Zack said.

"Now, listen…"

"No, you listen, junior!" Zack snapped.

"Junior?" Kurt said. "I'm old enough to be your old man. In fact, I am your old man."

"You may have given us life," Cody said, "but we can take it away!"

"Just because you've got your cooshy little job here doesn't mean you can forget who you're _really_ working for," Zack said, sticking a finger up into his old man's ribcage. "You're on the Codfather's payroll, and you will be for life."

Zack and Cody marched off, leaving Kurt with knotted knickers.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I snuck away to the Tipton. I was bouncing back and forth between the two hotels so much that I was starting to feel like a bowling ball in a bumper alley.

I could hear Carey's singing, sweet as sugar on the top of candy. But I wasn't there for the show. I made my way down to the Tipton basement.

It looked a lot different without any of Arwin's contraptions there.

I hid on the stairs. I could see Bob and Warren. Warren pulled a lever and a secret panel opened next to the furnace. I could sees crate marked with maple leafs in the crawl space that had just opened up.

"All right, Bob," Warren said. "Let's start moving these."

"I love selling this stuff," Bob said excitedly. "The ladies love a bootlegger."

Warren hoisted several crates out, while Bob crow barred one open. He removed a bottle and tore the cap off.

"Hey!" Warren shouted. "You've got to quite drinking the merchandise. The boss won't like it."

"Come on. It's just one orange soda. Go ahead. Take one. You'll love it."

"No way. I never touch the stuff."

Bob took another swig.

"What if the boss finds out?" Warren asked.

"He's laying low right now, remember?" Bob said. "He'll never find out if we just take a couple."

"I guess you're right," Warren said. He opened his own bottle and began swigging from it.

I snuck back up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, someone grabbed me and spun me around. It was Myra.

"Anything?" she asked.

"Lots," I replied. "I think I've almost got this whole thing figured out."

"I knew you were the man for the job," Myra said.

I could feel each breath she made as she spoke.

She rested her head on mine.

"Not right now, toots," I said. Very reluctantly. "Later. But right now, it's not safe here. Meet me at my office tomorrow night."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When I returned to my office, Maddie was sitting in her chair and filing her nails while London was sitting behind her and doing her hair.

"Are you a natural blonde?" London asked as she twirled Maddie's hair.

"No," Maddie said. "Can you tell?"

"Not at all," London said.

"You've just got to meet my friend Corrie," Maddie said. "She's absolutely obsessed with you."

Even though I'd seen it in my own dimension, I was still duly amazed by it. London had been right. She and Maddie made fast friends.

Maddie looked up and saw that I was watching her interaction with London intently.

"Hey, boss," she said. "I'm glad you're back. I've been keeping an eye on her like you said, but I really got to go. I've got a date with that boy I've been telling you about."

"Maddie, I'd really like to know who this boy is."

"He's just nobody!" Maddie said, nearly hissing.

"That's crazy," London said. "How can you be dating nobody?"

Maddie jumped to her feet, screaming as she left a handful of blonde hairs in London's hand.

London studied the hairs carefully.

"These really aren't natural blonde hairs."

She tossed them on the floor.

"She has a point," I said.

"About Maddie not being a natural blonde?" London said.

"About dating nobody," I said, for London's benefit. I turned to Maddie. "You keep running off at night with hardly any warning," I said. "I'd like to know in advance if I can depend on you or not."

"Look!" Maddie said, stomping her foot angrily. "Just because you sign my paycheck doesn't mean you can control me!"

And then she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The smoked glass reading "Moseby, P.I." shattered and fell to the floor in shards.

"Oh, good," London said. "Now you can finally see out your window."

And she clapped her hands together with delight.

_**A/N – Please, someone, review.**_


	11. His Girl Some Days

_Disclaimer: I don't own legal rights to this stuff._

**A/N – Well, it's been a few months, and I don't know if any of you will find it worth waiting for. Anyway, this chapter takes place two days after the previous one…**

It was raining hard, and the fog was so thick that I couldn't see my own hand if I stretched out my arm. The rain soaked my fedora until it stuck to my head as if it were part of my hair (not that I had much).

I knocked and the same wide-eyed, pouty-lipped, pig-tailed girl that had been in my office earlier answered the door.

"Moseby, right?" she said.

"Yeah, Corrie," I replied. "Have you seen Maddie lately?"

"No," Corrie said. "Not for the last couple days. We don't see each other that often, though. Hasn't she been working?"

"Not since a couple days back," I said, remembering the day Maddie had stomped her foot and broken my smoked glass. "I'm just a little bit worried about her."

"It's so sweet of you to come here to check on her," Corrie said.

"Yeah, that's me," I said out the side of my mouth. "Real sweet."

"If I see her, I promise I'll tell her you were asking for her."

"I appreciate that," I said, and I handed Corrie my card, telling her to call the number if Maddie ever showed.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It started raining harder. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and I was getting everywhere on foot. I meant to walk straight back to my office, but for some reason my feet had other plans. I found myself, once again, at the Tipton. It's shadow loomed over me. No matter what I did, I always found myself back here.

I entered the lounge and Patrick showed me to my seat. Carrie was finishing her set of torch songs. I sat down and listened, sipping a glass of ice water. The clinking of the ice at the bottom of the glass complimented the driving rhythm of the pounding rain outside.

When Carrie finished her last song, she jumped straight off the edge of the stage and walked directly to my table.

"Hey, shamus," she said. "Looks like you got a serious case of the blues."

"Every shade of them, toots," I replied.

She took a seat beside them.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"They're not worth the currency," I said. "But as it's your penny… I feel like I'm going nowhere fast?"

"What do you mean?" Carrie asked.

"My personal assistant, Maddie Fitzpatrick, left my office a couple days ago," I said. "No one's seen her since. She kept everything in the office running smoothly. I'm buried in my own filth without her."

"That's too bad," Carrie said.

"It's not just Maddie, though," I said. "It's everything. It's my case. I just can't sort it out. Everything's so complicated and twisted. I can't tell my friends from my enemies. Everyone's playing a different angle. And the case is just mystery upon mystery and I can't crack through."

"Sounds rough," Carrie said.

"I'll say," I said. I took another sip of ice water.

"You're thinking too hard," Carrie said.

"It's my job to think hard."

"But this is too hard. You're making it too complicated to see the big picture."

"And what is the big picture?"

"That everything is connected. The way it always is."

"Connected? How? I got a dead capo, crates full of illegal soda pop, a crooked lounge singer, a missing secretary, and London Tipton's racketeer boyfriend. I just can't make out up from down anymore."

"You're right-side up, gumshoe," Carrie said, giving me a reassuring rub on the shoulder. "You just need to put that nut of yours to good use."

Then she slipped something into my breast pocket and slunk away.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

London was waiting at my office. She'd offered to do Maddie's job for her while Maddie was still missing, seeing as she needed to lie low at the office, anyway.

"Hello," London was saying into the phone when I came back in. "No, I'm not Marion Moseby. I'm London Tipton. You must have the wrong number."

I was horrified when she hung up the phone. Had she been answering all my calls that way?

"Any messages for me?" I asked her, once I could spit the words out.

"Yeah," London said. She scratched her head. "Somebody called about blackmail."

"Blackmail?!"

"But I looked around your office, and the only mail I could find was white. So I told whoever it was that we couldn't help them."

"Is that all you remember?"

"They said they were willing to pay you a lot of money if you could find whoever had the blackmail. I told them you probably wouldn't know how to find the blackmail since all the mail you ever get is white."

I rubbed my eyes and looked at her in shock. She seemed to really believe the words coming out of her mouth.

"Did they leave anything for you to give to me?" I asked.

"They did," she said. "They told me what I should tell you…"

"Yes?"

"But I can't use that kind of language."

I groaned and collapsed into my desk chair. Sure, London was scaring away potential clients. But I had enough on my plate with the case I was already working at, anyway.

Just then, there was a flash of lightning. A face briefly appeared where the smoked glass should have been. Then the lights flickered off. They came back on a few seconds later. The door opened.

There stood Kurt.

"Mary Sue!" he cried. "You gotta help me! Hot Pepper's boys are gunning for me!"

"Calm down, pal," I said. "Then give me one good reason why I should help you."

"Look, Mary Sue, I'll do anything! I'll talk. But if Zack and Cody find out, they're gonna whack me. They're gonna whack me hard."

"That would hurt," London said.

"Yeah," Kurt agreed, nodding. He turned back to me. "I'll testify against them."

"Nice try," I said. "But no dice. The D.A.'s bent and the flatfoots are crooked. You won't be safe if you go to the authorities."

Kurt's even tan disappeared from his face, and he turned white as sleet. He looked from me to London and back in panic.

"Then what am I gonna do?" he asked.

"I'll tell you what you're gonna do," I said. "You're gonna stay here and lie low like everyone else until I can get this sorted out."

Kurt looked at his shoes in defeat. He didn't seem to have too much faith that I could sort everything out.

Well, neither did I.

**A/N – Chapter 12 coming soon.**


	12. Dead Managers Don't Wear Plaid

_Disclaimer – I still own no legal rights to anything._

_**A/N – I know I promised at the end of the last chapter that Chapter 12 would be coming soon, and this isn't soon at all, but there didn't seem to be that much of an audience clamor to keep reading.**_

**Powergirl1729 –**_**Thank you for reading and reviewing. Your review alone encouraged me to update again. This chapter is dedicated to you.**_

Kurt played solitaire as he and I took turns taking shots from the office bottle of Ginger Ale. London, eager to play her part in clearing up the mystery surrounding her and her boyfriend, had slipped into Maddie's role. She was sitting at the reception desk, filing her nails and gnawing on bubble gum. Earlier, I had dictated an ad I wanted to run in the Times to her.

I briefly described Toothy Todd and requested that anyone who had someone matching that description should contact me immediately.

"How do you spell that?" London asked.

"I-m-m-e . . ." I began.

"No," London said. "I meant . . ."

"It's t-h-a-t," I said and slouched back in my chair.

I poured another shot of Ginger Ale for Kurt and a double for myself.

The telephone rang. London leapt at it.

"Hi. This is London," she said.

I tried to take the phone from her hand before the caller could hang up, but, surprisingly, that wasn't the case, as the next thing London said was, "Yeah, it's really me."

I could hear the voice coming from the other end, she was speaking so loudly and excitedly.

"What am I wearing right now?" London said. "Something a lot more expensive and stylish than whatever you're wearing."

I snatched the phone from London's hand.

"Oh my goodness!" Corrie said. "Is that really her?"

After I managed to calm Corrie down, she told me that Maddie had called her. Apparently, Maddie had said that she would be out of town for a few days and that no one would be able to get a hold of her. She'd asked Corrie to cover the babysitting jobs she had lined up for her.

I thanked Corrie and then hung up. My heart sank. This new bit of information did nothing to ease my worries about Maddie, and the thought of London covering her role longer didn't help, either. I grabbed my fedora and trench coat.

"Hey, Mary Sue!" Kurt exclaimed edgily. "Where ya going?"

"Out for air," I said. "Clear my head."

Kurt gave London a frightened look and then I stepped out into the rain.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I hadn't made it a block from my office when I noticed the squad car following me. Ilsa stuck her head out the window.

"Mr. Moseby," she said. "Just zhe man ve have been looking for. Vhy don't you hop in, take a ride vith us?"

"Are you hoping I'm going to break down and confess to bumping off Hot Peppers now?" I said. "Or were you just following me, hoping I'd lead you to the body."

"Come on, Marion," Skippy said from the passenger seat. "Be reasonable."

I kept walking, the squad car gliding beside me.

"Tell me what you want from me or blow," I said.

"Rumor has it zhat you have been spending a lot of time at zhe St. Mark's," Ilsa said. "Zhe same place ve raided an illegal carbonation operation."

"Look," I said, and stopped in my tracks. "You're wasting your time squawking about the St. Mark's. It's clean. You've got to worry about putting the brakes on the smuggling going on at the Tipton."

"The Tipton?" Skippy said. "The Tipton's not the kind of place to host shady activities."

"I saw it with my own eyes," I said. "There's a secret storehouse in the basement. I think they're smuggling soda from Canada."

Ilsa and Skippy both looked at me in disbelief.

"Take me there and I'll show you," I said.

Ilsa sighed.

"Ve'd better call in for back up," she said, shifting her weight to climb out of her seat. I was going to stop her, but Skippy beat me to it.

"You'd better go, lieutenant," he said. "I'll call for back-up and then meet you there."

Skippy got out of the car and I took his place in the passenger seat. Then Ilsa and I made tracks to the Tipton Hotel.

When we got to the Tipton, I insisted we wait in the lobby for Skippy's back-up to arrive. No way was I going to be alone in a secret room with a dirty cop. The police finally arrived and I led them down into the cellar.

Everyone watched with baited breath as I pulled the lever, just the way I had seen Warren and Bob do earlier. The panel opened, and everyone saw the crawl space loaded with the wooden crates marked with maple leafs. The crowbar was exactly where Bob had left it.

_Finally,_ I thought. _I catch a break for once._

I took the crowbar and smashed the nearest crate open. The wood shattered, but instead of Canadian orange soda, fuzzy pink umbrellas poured out.

Ilsa laughed, and I heard chuckles coming from the other flatfoots as well. Frantically, I turned to the next crate and smashed it open as well. More umbrellas. The cops laughed harder.

"Thanks for the tip, sir," Sgt. Skippy offered. "I think we can take it from here."

As I made my way to the stairs, Ilsa grabbed my shoulder.

"Vait, Moseby," she said. "One more thing."

She handed me one of the fluffy pink umbrellas.

"You'd better take this," she said. "It's raining outside."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I was on my way out of the hotel when I spotted the Tipton Terrors. Zack and Cody were talking to a third person, only slightly taller than they were. I quickly took cover behind a potted plant.

I couldn't make out who the third person was. The collar of the long black trench coat was flipped up and touching the extremely wide brim of the black fedora. Zack, Cody, and their new friend walked outside. I tiptoed after them.

They'd made it a couple of blocks from the Tipton when I accidentally stepped on a glass bottle that had carelessly been left on the street. Quickly, I jumped around the nearest corner.

"I thought I heard something," one of the twins said.

I peeked around the edge and saw Zack turning and walking towards the glass shards on the pavement. I turned around. There was nowhere to hide but a trash dumpster surrounded by a swarm of flies.

I looked at the dumpster, and then I looked down at my clothes. They were a good outfit.

Zack's footsteps were coming closer. I carefully lifted the lid of the dumpster. The smell was terrible. I dropped the lid and jumped back, trying not to throw up. Zack's footsteps drew even closer.

I had no choice. I sobbed once, took a deep breath, and then opened the lid again and dived in, closing the lid over me. I kept holding my breath and trying not to think about the soft and squishy stuff I'd landed in.

I heard Zack's footsteps right outside the dumpster. The lid raised a crack.

"Stop playing around, Zack," Cody's voice said.

"Yeah," came the voice of the third person. My blood went cold. It was a familiar girl's voice. "I don't have all night."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I kept holding my breath until after the footsteps faded away and there had been a full moment of silence. Then I threw open the lid of the dumpster, gagging and taking deep breaths of fresh air. I pulled the mess of spaghetti noodles off of my shoulder and felt the slime of a banana peel in my shoe as I stepped back onto solid ground.

I ran down the street, the banana peel feeling more disgusting beneath my foot every step of the way. Finally, I caught sight of the three again. They had found an abandoned alley way and stopped there.

The third person removed her hat. It was exactly what I was afraid of. She shook her head and revealed a long mess of very familiar blonde hair.

I felt more discouraged than ever. In this topsy-turvy world, Maddie had been the one person I had trusted. Now, here she was, meeting in secret with two of the most notorious mobsters in Boston. Even trusting her had been a mistake.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I snuck away from the scene and caught a cab back to my office. London gagged and plugged her nose as I came in. I could see that she, Kurt, and Corrie had been playing a tournament game of Go Fish. From the way the chips laid, it appeared London had been the big loser.

"Phew!" London exclaimed. "Where have you been? You stink like . . ."

"I don't even want to know what I stink like," I interrupted. "My sense of smell quit working about fifteen minutes ago."

I offered the pink umbrella I had been carrying to London.

"Eww. No," she said. "That's so tacky."

I pivoted and offered the umbrella to Corrie. She smiled broadly and accepted.

"Gee, thanks," she said.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked.

"Maddie said I should head over here. She wanted me to help you in any way that I could."

Great. I seemed to be building a stable of ditzy secretaries. But even if Maddie was somehow mixed up in the conspiracy I had stumbled into, Corrie didn't seem like the type that would get involved.

"There was a woman asking for you earlier," Corrie said. "She said she was one of your clients."

I groaned. In tailing Maddie and the Tipton Terrors, I had forgotten all about my meeting with Myra Mitchum. It was the second time I had put it off.

"What did you say to her?" I asked.

"I said you probably had something more important to do," London answered.

"She was really mad," added Corrie.

"And did she say anything?" I asked.

"Yes," Corrie said. "But I'm not supposed to repeat that kind of language."

The telephone rang. I leapt to answer it before Corrie or London could.

"Hey there, gumshoe." It was Carey. "Still feeling blue?"

"I'm giving up," I said. "I don't have a friend in the world. Everyone I know wants to hurt me."

"You know, for a tough guy," Carey replied, "you kind of sound like a big baby."

"Listen up, Carey," I said. "Maddie betrayed me. I feel like I've been hit with a wet frying pan."

"You should have paid her better."

"I can't get a break on this case. I don't even know who this Codfather guy is."

"Have you looked at the clipping I gave you yet?"

I reached into my breast pocket and found the piece of paper Carey had put there earlier.

"It's just an advertisement for a new seafood restaurant."

"Look again."

I looked again. It was a newspaper article about a new dive called the Codfish Place. The grand opening was tomorrow. It slowly began to make sense.

"It's just about a tiny little restaurant called . . . Son of a gun! It's the Codfather. That's his place. Thanks, Carey. I owe you one."

I hung up. Kurt, Corrie, and London all looked at me expectantly.

"I'm going to solve this case," I said. "No matter how many crooks are involved, even if Maddie's one of them."

_**A/N – The next chapter may or may not be coming soon.**_


	13. The Codfather

_Disclaimer – I don't own rights to anything in this story._

_**A/N – So, at this point it's been about a year since I've even seen an episode of TSL . . .**_

I put on my powder blue suit and stuck the newspaper clipping Carey had given me in my breast pocket. I checked my reflection in the mirror to make sure my fedora was tilted at just the right angle. If I was going to meet the most dangerous man in Boston, I wanted to look my best for him.

London gave me a funny look as I headed for the door. She rocked back and forth on her feet and spoke in a sing-song voice.

"Whatchadoin'?"

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath.

"Using deductive reasoning and by asking the right questions, I'm hoping to find the source of this crime wave. I'm going to seek out the Codfather, grill him for information, and then analyze the info he gives me. If it's legitimate information, I might be on the right track to finding out where your boyfriend disappeared to, who killed Esteban, where the body went, and what's going on in the basement of the Tipton Hotel. I'll then draw a net around the guilty party or parties without the use of advanced forensic science or even much cooperation from the local constabulary."

One look at London's face told me her mind was drawing a total blank. After a moment, she repeated her question.

"Whatchadoin'?"

"Stuff," I replied.

This answer seemed to satisfy London, but I could see that Corrie and Kurt still had further questions. I did my best to look reasurring.

"You be careful out there, Mary Katherine," Kurt told me. "The Codfather's not someone to take lightly."

"I will," I said. "But he's the only one who has the answers to all of our questions. I'm going to see him."

* * *

The grand opening of the Codfish Place seemed to be a great success. The restaurant was crowded with seafood lovers. The whole place smelled of deep fried fish and malt vinegar. I watched several customers tossing hush puppies into the air and trying to catch them in their mouths. One guy missed. I watched the hushpuppy bounce off his cheek and then off the table, and the customer ran to chase after it as it rolled across the floor.

Cody was standing beneath an arch leading from the main dining area into one of the private rooms. I stealthily crept up behind and held the nozzle of my squirt pistol to his neck.

"You get that away from me, gumshoe, or you just see what happens!" Cody said as he squirmed, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.

"It's loaded, pipsqueak," I said, pressing the squirt gun in tighter. "I want answers, and I want them now. Take me to the guy in charge."

Cody started walking. I held on to him, keeping the gun trained on his neck. As we walked through the halls of treachery, I thought I could hear an ominous waltz playing softly in the background.

We came to a door, and I could hear voices coming from inside. I pulled Cody back into the shadows, my back flat against the wall, and listened.

"How?" came a loud voice with an Italian accent. "How could there possibly be any complaints about my fillet a la Paolo?"

"Well," a thin voice answered, "customers are complaining that it tastes . . . fishy."

This was followed by a loud stomping, and a shout of, "I'm a-quit!"

The door burst open, and barrel-chested Chef Paolo stormed out, larger than life.

I pushed Cody through the door, my squirt gun still aimed at him. Then I heard a click. Zack was at my side, aiming his Nerf dart launcher at my head. I slowly lowered my squirt gun. I was staring at the rear of an enormous wing-backed chair.

The chair pivoted. I couldn't believe my eyes. I immediately recognized Lance Fishman, the not-too-bright lifeguard of the Tipton pool.

This was the biggest fish in the whole conspiracy: the Codfather. Lance was the last person I would have guessed would turn out to be the most powerful mob boss in Boston. Yet, it made a kind of twisted sense. Lance hated anything dry.

"Mr. Moseby," he said, his usual slacker tone drawling slower than usual. "You come to me on the day of the grand opening of my restaurant. But you do not show me any respect. You do not call me Codfather."

"Just say the word, boss," Zack said, "and he sleeps with the fishes."

"Why does he get to have all the fun?" Lance said, pouting. "I want to sleep with the fishes, too."

"If you're going to shoot me, just do it already!" I said. "I'm sick of this parallel universe where everybody keeps waving their guns in my face and threatening me, and I'm tired of not knowing who to trust and trying to figure out who's who and I'm tired of everybody being out to get me and I can't take any more questions I don't know the answers to. I'm tired of being scared and confused and feeling like I don't know what's going on. So if you're going to kill me, just do it so I can finally be done with all this nonsense! Otherwise, let's talk."

"What do you want to talk about?" Lance asked. "Because I kind of want to talk about the breast stroke. It's way better than overhand or underhand."

"I want to know what was going on at the Tipton and the St. Mark," I said. "And I want to know where Esteban Ramirez went."

"I want to know that, too," Lance said.

"Lance, why did you become the Codfather?"

"I just wanted people to get what they want," Lance said. "Everyone was thirsty and I wanted them to have something to drink. I found out they'd pay me if I gave them soda to drink in secret. So I set up places where thirsty people could drink soda. I put one guy, Hot Peppers Ramirez, in charge of the operation at the Tipton, and another guy in charge of the St. Mark . . ."

"Toothy Todd," I interjected.

"Yeah," Lance said. "Toothy Todd. But somehow, the police found out we were selling soda in the St. Mark. They went in and got rid of all the soda we had there and arrested a bunch of my friends who were making and selling it, but no one could find Toothy Todd anywhere."

As Lance told his story, the pieces of the puzzle finally started fitting together in my head. That's when I looked around the room and realized the Tipton terrors had gone. In their place was a briefcase. My heart raced as I opened it.

Three water balloons sat together, connected by what looked like some kind of timer.

"Get down!" I shouted at Lance.

He dove to the floor. I took a closer look at the balloons and the timing mechanism, but it was useless. I had no idea how to disarm a water bomb. As the timer reached zero, I jumped as far from the blast as I could, throwing myself over Lance, making myself a human shield.

A spurt of water shot into the air. It looked like an innocent garden fountain. But when I looked up, the door and the wall were both blown clean away. Customers were screaming and running from the restaurant. I held on tight to my squirt pistol and darted into the main dining area.

Zack, Cody, Bob, and Warren were all waiting for me there, armed with Nerf launchers. I ran into the center of the room, swinging my squirt gun in Bob's direction. A trickle of water ran down from the center of his forehead and he collapsed to the ground.

I took cover behind a table that had been thrown on to its side. I heard the _thwack_ of a Nerf dart striking against it. I peered out and took my shot. Warren looked at the wet puddle of water forming in the center of his shirt and fainted.

That's when I saw that Zack was holding a much larger Nerf launcher. I dove back into my cover. There was a _rat-a-tat-tat_ and an entire line of rapid-fire Nerf darts struck the wall above me.

I took a deep breath, stood up again, and drew a bead on Zack. I pulled the trigger. Nothing. Horrified, I realized that my squirt gun had leaked all my ammunition. Zack's Nerf launcher clicked, and I closed my eyes and prepared for the end.

"Drop it!" I heard a familiar girl's voice shout.

I opened my eyes and saw Maddie holding a squirt gun of her own to Zack's back. I was flushed with relief. Zack sighed and let his Nerf gun fall to the ground. Stickler, the funny little man I had seen with the nuns earlier, had his own Nerf gun pressed to Cody's back, as Cody held his arms up in surrender.

"Special Agent Madeline Margaret Genevieve Miranda Catherine Fitzpatrick, FBI," Maddie said. "You're under arrest."

She and Stickler forced the Tipton terrors to their knees and handcuffed them. My sense of relief was replaced by a feeling of betrayal.

"I never figured you were working for the G," I told Maddie.

"You were as mixed up in things with the Codfather as anyone else," Stickler said. "But you had access to contacts and informants the police didn't. So we planted one of our best agents inside your agency."

"So, you duped me?" I said to Maddie. "All this time I thought you were my friend, and you were just using me to get to the Codfather."

There was sadness in her big doe eyes.

"No, Chief, I swear!" Maddie insisted. "At first, I was just a plant. But after a while I really began to respect you as a detective. The friendship was real."

"Where is the Codfather, anyway?" Stickler asked.

He looked around, but it was no use. Lance Fishman had fled during the melee. The Codfather wasn't finished yet. But I still had other fish to fry.

"I need a moment alone with the twins," I said.

"No way!" Stickler objected. "They're being taken for questioning at a Federal facility . . ."

"Back down, Stickler," Maddie said. "Just give them a minute."

She let me take Zack and Cody into a private dining room and then closed the door behind us.

"We're not saying nothing, flatfoot!" Zack said defiantly.

"Yeah!" Cody added, nodding.

"I just need the name of the place," I said. "The isolated hideaway spot where you take people you don't want to be found, or hide at when the heat is on. I know you've got one. Your type always does."

They were silent.

"Come on, boys," I said. "Play ball with us."

"We're not in the mood for sports right now," Cody said, sticking his tongue out at me.

"And even if we were," Zack added, "we wouldn't want to play with you guys, anyway."

"The Codfather's still out there, boys," I said. "And he knows you betrayed him. You're going to need serious protection. Not only that, but if you don't cooperate now, you're going to be two very old men when you get out of the slammer. But if you tell me what I want to know, I'll talk to the Feds, see that you get time off for good behavior, plus arcade and pool privalages at the Tipton once you get out."

Cody looked at Zack, and then he mouthed just three words at me: "Heaven On Earth." It was all I needed.

"They're all yours," I said, pushing Zack and Cody out the door and into Agent Stickler's arms. Then I started walking to my car.

"Agent Fitzpatrick," I called to Maddie. Her old thousand watt smile appeared. "Come with me. I could use some back-up."

Maddie quickly hopped into the passenger seat and we drove off.

* * *

After a few minutes of driving in silence, Maddie looked at me.

"You're not really the same Mr. Moseby I know, are you?" she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean I was only pretending to be stupid as part of my cover. You haven't seemed like you were from around here at all."

I broke down and told her the whole story. Of the future, the Tipton Hotel, and Arwin's P. U. machine. She listened attentively, nodding the whole time.

"I knew it," she finally said. "You didn't seem like you knew anything about the case or about being a detective. It was like you had amnesia or something."

We rode mostly in silence after that, both of us trying to figure out the mystery. I now had a pretty good idea what had been going down, but there was something I needed to check out before I could be sure.

It was called Camp Heaven On Earth, but it looked more like the other place. The tiny cabins were rotting and decaying amidst the tall, bare trees. The air reeked of broken dreams, dashed hopes, and bad Sloppy Joe's. I stopped the car in front of one of the cabins.

"Wait here," I told Maddie. "I'll whistle if I need you."

"Aye, aye, chief!" she said, flashing me a trusting grin. I smiled back and got out.

All my nervousness was gone. All of a sudden, I was full of courage. I'd come this far, and now nothing was going to stop me from learning the truth. No matter how ugly things got.

I reloaded my squirt gun in the heavily polluted lake before approaching the cabin. I froze when I heard a twig snap beneath someone's foot. Todd St. Mark approached from around the corner of the cabin, looking pale and frightened, carrying a very large super soaker. He cocked it and pointed it at my face.

"Who goes there?"

"Easy there, soldier," I said. "I'm a friend of London's. She's been trying to find you."

Todd's face became paler with concern.

"London?" he said. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She's fine, son," I said. "Now why don't you tell me what you've been doing here?"

"He warned me he'd found out there was going to be a raid on the carbonation center in the St. Mark," Toothy Todd said. "Then he took me out here to lie low. He said it was just until things blew over."

"Who?" I asked. "Esteban?"

"He said not to go anywhere. Just to hide out until he said it was safe to show my face in town again."

"You've been duped, kid," I said. "We need to get you out of here."

"Not so fast!"

The door swung open, and out stepped Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya De La Rosa Ramirez.

He was holding a squirt pistol very similar to my own. We locked each other in our sights.

"Surprised to see me, Mr. Moseby?" Esteban asked.

"Oh, pish posh," I said. "I'd be more surprised if I _didn't _see you. It was the only thing that made sense. The water balloon was a dud, right? The only thing I don't get is how you pulled it off. I checked your pulse."

"I wore a tourniquet to cut off the circulation to my arm," Esteban said. "It was all Cody's idea. He said it would make it seem like I was dead." He squeezed his arm. "It still feels like pins and needles."

"Well, did you ever take the tourniquet off?"

Esteban's face was filled with total shock. Apparently, the thought had never occurred to him. He let the arm hang limply at his side.

"You were the one who blew the whistle on the operation at the St. Mark," I said. "But you told Toothy Todd about the raid so you could have him hiding here. That way you'd be able to take over the operation at both hotels. Then you faked your murder so no one would suspect you when you went after the Codfather. The whole root beer bootlegging operation would be yours. But your plan failed. The Codfather lives."

Esteban grunted and pulled the trigger. But he missed. His aim was off without a second arm to steady the gun. He fired again, and again he missed.

"It's over, Hot Peppers," I said. "You might as well come quietly."

"Not so fast!" yet another voice said. I was getting tired of hearing the phrase. A chill went up my spine, and as I heard a female whimper, I knew I had one more nasty surprise in store.

I slowly turned around to see Skippy, the police sergeant, holding a squirt gun against Maddie's head. Once again, my experiences in my own dimension had confused me. I'd known there was a slimy cop, but I'd suspected the wrong one.

"You're the crooked cop? Not Ilsa?" I said.

Skippy nodded slowly.

"And you were the one who warned the bootleggers at the Tipton about the police raid? When you were supposed to be calling for back-up?"

Skippy nodded again.

"Why, Skip?" I slowly backed up so I could keep one eye on Skippy and another on Esteban and Todd.

"Being a police turncoat's a job," Skippy said. "I'm just in it for the money. Now put the gun down, or the girl gets it."

"Don't worry about me, Mr. Moseby!" Maddie blurted. "Take the shot."

My grip tightened around the water pistol. Fear began gnawing at the pit of my stomach again, this time mixed with concern for Maddie, whom I cared about as if she was my own daughter, and indignation towards Skippy, who'd betrayed everything his badge stood for and threatened her. I took several slow, deep breaths and tried to remain calm.

"Let the girl go, Skip," I said. "She's just a kid. It's me that you want."

"Not until you put the gun down," Skippy barked. Maddie whimpered again as he grabbed her tighter.

"Okay," I said, very slowly, trying to calm everyone down. "Okay. I'm putting the gun down."

All eyes were glued to me as I slowly bent over, arms extended, flipping the squirt gun so I was holding it by the barrel. Skippy's face twisted in a sleazy smile.

I put the gun down in the dirt.

"Now let the girl go."

Skippy just laughed. Suddenly, Todd pointed his gun at Esteban, who turned around to face his new opponent. In the confusion, I dove for my squirt gun, aimed it carefully at Skippy, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The polluted lake water had jammed it. Maddie rolled her eyes.

"Everyone freeze!" a shrill voice shouted.

Ilsa Shickelgrubermeiger-Von Helsinger Keppelugerhoffer emerged from the woods, followed by a squad of police officer, all heavily armed with giant Nerf guns. I never in my whole life thought I'd be so excited to see her.

"Sergeant Skippy," she said, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. "I am so disappointed in you."

"Wow," Maddie said. "Talk about your _deux ex machina_."

"Here's your man, lieutenant," I said, grabbing Esteban by the shoulder and shoving him toward Ilsa. "He's responsible for the bootlegging operation at the Tipton. And the St. Mark."

I winked at Todd. I could see the relief in his eyes. Luckily, Ilsa didn't seem to notice. She just nodded at me and led Esteban and Skippy away.

Maddie threw her arms around me.

"I knew you'd do it!" she said. "You're the greatest detective there is. Just say the word, and I'll leave the Bureau and go back to working for you full-time."

I gave her a peck on the forehead.

"You're a darn good man, sister."

* * *

I stood in the center of Arwin's castle, in front of his new P. U. machine. Gathered around were Carey, Maddie, Kurt, Corrie, and London. They all shook my hand and wished me a hearty good bye. But I didn't want to go just yet. There was someone who wasn't there. Someone I wanted to see first.

Then _she_ walked in. Myra Mitchum, looking lovelier than ever. I ran and threw myself into her. I held her close to me, breathing in the scent of her perfume.

"I couldn't let you go without saying good bye," she said.

"You don't have to," I said. "I just realized . . . I'm staying here."

Everyone was startled. Including me. But I realized it then. Back in my dimension I was a boring hotel manager, with no love in my life other than the Tipton. Here I had danger. I had excitement. And most of all, I had Myra.

"I love you," I said to her.

Tears ran down Myra's cheeks.

"I love you, too," she said. "But I can't let you stay here."

"But . . ."

She put a finger to my lips.

"You're not meant to be here," she said. "Your home is somewhere else. Your Tipton needs you."

When she said it, I knew in my heart it was true. My whole life had been about keeping the Tipton Hotel running smoothly. I shuddered to imagine what kind of destruction was happening there without me. But I still didn't want to let Myra go.

"She's right," Maddie said. "There are people in your own dimension who love and care about you. They need you."

Finally, Kurt stepped forward.

"You've got to get in the machine right now, Mary Sue," he said. "Otherwise, you'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But someday, for the rest of your life."

"Besides," Arwin said, "you don't really have a choice."

He pointed and I looked at my hands. They were starting to dissolve in mid air. I looked down and could see my legs fading to.

"What's happening?" I asked. "I didn't even get in the machine!"

"You've completed the parameters of the program," Arwin said. "You're involvement in the parallel universe is now ending."

I tried to say something, but Myra pushed her mouth against mine. We kissed.

"I'll never forget you," she said.

And then everything went black.


	14. Epilogue

_Disclaimer – I don't own the rights to any of the characters in this story._

Mr. Moseby felt dizzy as he stepped out of the P. U. The first thing he saw was Arwin, sitting on a crate, playing with a spring, looking dejected. When Moseby came close, Arwin was instantly at his feet, screaming in horror.

"I'm so sorry!" he said. "I thought I had all the problems ironed out. I shouldn't have forced you to . . ."

"Arwin, it's all right," Moseby said, still trying to catch his balance.

Arwin looked around the room.

"Who am I kidding?" he said. "You were right. I should throw all these inventions away. I wanted to share them with the world, but no one will ever be interested in these ridiculous contraptions and crazy experiments."

And he sat back down and went back to playing with his spring.

"Your stupid machine nearly killed me," Moseby said. He went to kick the machine, but then stopped. "But with a little more tweaking . . . it might make a very amusing game for the Tipton arcade."

Instantly, a goofy grin appeared on Arwin's face and his shoulders perked back up.

"Really?" Arwin said. "But . . . will Mr. Tipton approve it?"

Mr. Moseby knew in his heart exactly what any tough guy would say.

"I'll pull some strings."

* * *

Moseby stepped out into the lobby of the Tipton. He took several deep breaths to take in the scent of it. It was _his_ Tipton.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw him. Zack Martin. Holding a very large Nerf gun. Moseby froze in his tracks.

Cody ran by and Zack fired at him. He missed and the dart stuck at Mr. Moseby's forehead. Moseby continued to stand stock still, transfixed, as the horrible realization dawned on Zack and Cody that their roughhousing had been interrupted by the hotel's manager once again. They both looked at each other and then darted into the elevator, towards safety.

Maddie peered out from behind the candy counter.

"You okay, chief?" she asked.

"Huh?" Moseby said.

Maddie repeated herself.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I just feel like . . . I'm still in a dream."

He reached up and removed the Nerf dart from the bull's eye it had hit on his forehead.

Maddie shrugged and went back to counting candy bars.

Moseby sighed and took a seat in one of the chairs. It was good to be back to running the Tipton again, but it was also lonely. His heart was broken. He'd never see Myra again.

Or so he thought.

Carey was guiding a slender woman with smooth, mocha colored skin and long, curly hair through the lobby. She stopped when she came to Mr. Moseby.

"This is Marion Moseby," she said. "The hotel manager. He can answer your questions."

"Hello, Mr. Moseby. My name is Myra Mitchum." She held out her hand.

"I know," Moseby said.

"Huh?"

"I mean . . . I feel like I know you."

"Thank you," Myra said, smiling warmly. "I'm a writer. I'm working on a book about the history of the Tipton Hotel, and I'm here doing some research. I was hoping you could help."

"Miss Mitchum," Moseby said, putting a hand on her back and motioning towards his office, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship . . ."

_**Fin.**_


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